Real
by nolovenoglory
Summary: The war is over, but there is so much fighting left to do. He goes on, the shell of a man who wanted so badly to die, though his hope and his will to live have been destroyed. And still, every day he has to face them, the living ghosts of the war... including the one person intent on delving deeper into him than he knew possible, into the soul he never knew existed.
1. Prologue

Prologue

He only knew he was alive by the sound of the flimsy wooden boards creaking beneath his back as he breathed. He saw only darkness before him, though it appeared to be moving...swimming...sparkling? Perhaps he was dead. If this was death, though, why was there so much pain? It wasn't the wound at his throat; he felt only a slight cooling sensation as the evening breeze touched the blood pooled there. No, the pain came from inside now, much as it always had.

He had failed her. Not that she'd asked him to bear this load; no, it was a burden he willingly took. He would have done anything for her, and he had. He had loved her still when she hated him; watched her with _him_; seen her hands on her belly, swollen with _his _child. But by the time he had decided it was enough to make him want to die, she had finally _needed_ him. Not in the way he wanted to be needed, but it was something. He could never leave her when she needed him. But he had failed her then, too.

He let out a ragged, strained breath. He was dying. He wasn't scared, really. This is what he had been wanting for so long. He was ready. Ready to be free of the pain, the secrets. More than anything, he was ready for the moment of death, for he was sure that was when he would see her again.

He wasn't stupid. He had no delusions about Heaven, about being with her after death. He knew he wasn't good enough to be where she was, wherever that may be.

And... _the boy. _The boy was as good as dead, once the noble little fool invaded his own most private, most personalthoughts and discovered what a disgusting manipulator his mentor really was. The thought of that stupid, arrogant boy knowing his hurt, his love, his _lust_...

He quickly forced the thought from his mind. _No, _he told himself, _don't think of any of that. Think of her. _And he did, letting the memories wash over him. First, the daisy in her palm and the terror in her eyes the first time he saw her do magic. The terror became laughter in his memories, the two of them holding hands crossing the black lake their first night at school. Her hair, vibrant as fire, tickling his face as a gust of wind blew it wild...

Her eyes. Those eyes. Filled with excitement, with laughter, with joy.

Those eyes, filled with anger, loathing, hatred. And worst...

Her beautiful, magical green eyes, filled with love. _That wasn't for him. _

"Look at me," he gasped. His chest heaved; his limbs were tingling, going numb. Death was close, so painfully close. His eyelids fluttered closed, shutting in the memory of those green eyes as the last thing he saw.

_Save me,_ he told those eyes, certain the words were spoken only in his own mind. He waited, knowing she would come. _Where is she? What is taking so long? _

The stillness enveloped him. He heard a rush in his ears that sounded like the ocean. _This is it_, he thought. _Lily, come to guide me on. Please... I need you..._

Then the darkness caved in, burying him under the weight of a million memories. Alone.


	2. Chapter 1: The Pain

Part One: Coming Home

Chapter 1: The Pain

"_There's a ghost in my lungs, and it sighs in my sleep_

_Wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks_

_Then it walks, then it walks with my legs_

_To fall, to fall, to fall at your feet." _

_-Florence + the Machine, "Ghost"_

He had scars.

Not the stupid metaphorical ones, those he had those too. No, his body was covered in real scars, from the faintest pink line on his ankle from a defense spell gone awry in his third year to the jagged, angry purple trail leading from his left ear to his right collarbone where the snake had torn out the flesh of his throat. His chest looked like a map of hell; the purple, red, pink lines intersecting and curving and diving across the skin. His back was even more crudely decorated with the reminders of the Dark Lord's whims. Glaring at his own reflection, watching the ugly marks stretch and squirm as he breathed, he briefly wondered how he could be so damaged when the rest of the world was seemingly returning to normal.

He scoffed at his own dramatics. _Fuck yourself, Snape, _he spat in his mind, _you did this all on your own. _As he buttoned his shirt over his heinously decorated torso, he wondered at the number of admirers of the most famous scar given by Voldemort. _The idiot lot of them would run in terror at the sight any one of mine_.

Taking care to secure the top button on his cloak—_can't have any stupid first years staring_—he slammed the door of his rooms behind him.

It hadn't yet been three months from the day he woke up gasping for air in St Mungo's, screaming like a fool and completely unsure of what was going on. Nobody had been there, of course, waiting on him to come around. Not that he had expected visitors, but he had no bloody idea where he was or how he got there, none the less why he was still alive.

The pain was unbearable. For days...weeks?... he had writhed between the starchy sheets, clawing at the open, oozing gashes on his neck and chest where the snake had gouged out his flesh. He screamed for hours; though he knew he sounded like a stupid child, he couldn't control his reaction to the searing, itching, hellish pain from the bites. The healers did the best they could, he knew, but he continued to scream and swear at their ineptitude at healing him of a dark magic so powerful that none of them had seen it before. Soon, his hands were bound to the bed and his mouth sealed shut with a charm so that he could not curse any more healers with his wandless magic. But still he gagged and screamed and thrashed through the pain, wanting to die but unable to summon the courage again.

During this time, he flitted in and out of consciousness, aware only figures—healers, presumably—coming and going, casting incantations over his struggling body. One of them touched him, once—a cool hand on the burning flesh of his face—and his reaction was so violent, he was sure he'd been sedated for days afterward.

After a few long weeks, the pain subsided. The wounds closed and the pain dulled to the constant ache Severus felt as he dressed that evening, the first night of the term. He ran his hands through his hair, angrily wondering why he was even here. The war was over, Potter was gone, his job at Hogwarts was done. But when he had the opportunity to leave this place forever, he panicked. He tried, but he couldn't picture being anywhere else come September first, not even Spinner's End. This angered him immensely. He was _not_ sentimental; in fact, he hated Hogwarts with his entire being. It was here that he suffered at the hands of so many_._ First fucking Potter and his gang, then Voldemort, then Dumbledore. Oh, and then the second Potter! No, he did not love Hogwarts, and the castle held nothing but sickening memories for him. He hated the courtyard, where Potter and Black had tormented him so frequently. He hated the headmaster's office, where Dumbledore had manipulated and used him. He even hated his own dark cave in the dungeons, where he had spent so many nights sick and alone and wondering if he was about to die. And now every time he caught a glimpse of the willow out a window, he would be forced to remember his own death, heaving and choking on his own blood as he convulsed on the cold floor of the Shrieking Shack.

But here he was, for the seventeenth consecutive year. As he ascended to the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony, his body ached as it climbed the dungeon steps. As much as he despised Harry Potter, and though Tom Riddle had ruined his pathetic life, the three of them had something in common: Hogwarts was their home.

He wasn't surprised to see that the Great Hall was fuller than normal, even before the sorting. He'd been told, of course, that some of the half-blood or muggle-born students—Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, mostly—would be coming back to finish their NEWTs.

But when his eyes alighted on that fluffy-haired little know-it-all, Granger, he could hardly contain a snarl. Surely she couldn't be back to torment him further? Was this some kind of odd Hell where the worst of his already horrid students returned past their time to force him to remember a part of his life he already knew he could never move past? He scanned the area around her for her pathetic little friends and breathed an audible sigh of relief when he found no Potter or Weasley—save for the girl—in his search. Perhaps, then, it wouldn't be so horrible.

He hadn't noticed he was staring at her until she turned, her long hair floating over her shoulder as she did, and caught his eye. She looked as stunned as he felt, and despite himself, he gave her a small, serious nod of greeting, not bothering to remove the scowl from his expression. She nodded back, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, before turning away to speak to her classmates.

This was not their first interaction since they had found him dying on the floor of the Shack a few short months ago. No, she and those unfortunate friends of hers had made one brief, awkward visit while he recovered in Saint Mungo's. He had the feeling that the visit was entirely at her insistence—though it certainly did not mean that he _liked_ her by any means—for she did most of the talking. As she relentlessly pattered on about the post-war rebuilding efforts and the death eaters still at large—as if he cared_: doesn't she realize all that I have lost?_—the Weasley boy stood cross-armed in the furthest corner, saying nothing and appearing entirely disgusted at his presence in the room. Potter was grossly noble, as usual, and thanked Severus for his service to the Order and to himself. When the trio left his room, Severus received two uncomfortable handshakes: a strong and serious one from Potter, and a too-quick, limp tremor from Weasley. But as the boys passed into the hall, the girl took Severus's hand in two of hers, squeezing, and... _smiled. _

Of course, that has been months ago, now. Apparently, everyone but himself had been able to move on since then. The fucking Boy Who Lived and his ginger-headed shadow had since moved on to Auror training. _The Prophet had made no small news of that. _Severus wasn't sure what was more sickening: the though of wasting another year attempting to teach those two idiots, or the fact that they obviously thought themselves above what they could learn here. But the girl—_the young woman?_—was back, and she was smiling at him sadly from the Gryffindor table. He allowed his anger to seep into his gaze before turning away. He disliked her for her affiliation with Potter, resented her for forgetting about the horrors of the war so simply... but he respected her for returning to school. _Oh yes, BRA-VO, Miss Granger. Well done, as usual, _he thought, maintaining his aloof gaze at the Great Hall ceiling and away from her, _God forbid she expects any kind of _friendship_ in return for a simple smile. _He looked her way again, trying to make his face appear angry and cold, but she was already smiling at the Thomas boy, listening intently to something he was saying.

As the feast drew to a close, the children and their teachers lingered in the Great Hall, their bellies full of treacle tart. Hermione was smiling kindly at a tiny first-year boy who was obviously trying very hard to impress the older witch. Severus, seated alone at the end of the head table, watched the scene unfold, glaring angrily in their direction._ How can she do that? _He asked himself, incredulous. _How can she enjoy her food and her friends and laugh so warmly when her friends are dead, her parents no longer know her, and she is here, just as I am, living in the place where it all occurred? _An angry snort escaped his nose, like a bull in a fight. _What a silly, foolish girl, pretending nothing at all has happened. _

He had hesitated, at first, when asked to stay at Hogwarts after his recovery. Not because he was weak, _he was not_, and not because of the history in this place. No, he had briefly considered leaving when he realized that the students, especially the younger ones, would never know or understand what had happened here. He wasn't sure he could live with that, with... _forgetting. I will never cease to remember anything, no matter how much I want to. _ Could he deal with the stupid children, prattling on day in and day out about the war they were barely old enough to remember, nonetheless fight in? He did not think so, but in the end, he had stayed all the same. It was oddly comforting, after all, to live amongst these children who did not know anything about him and the horrors he had faced.

But _she_ knew. And for one more year, at least, he would be forced to watch her—every meal and three times a week in classes—smile and laugh and have friendships and... _move on. Yes, she is moving on._ He furrowed his brow at the girl, oblivious and smiling with her classmates at the far end of the hall. He was suddenly infuriated. _How could she? How can she be anything but devastated at what has transpired here... in this very hall!_ Severus glowered. He did not know the girl's smile bothered him more than any other's apparent disregard for the very recent past, but somehow, it did. Perhaps he felt that, as a central figure in this war, she owed it to Dumbledore... _to him_... to be a little more reverent.

Absorbed in his angry thoughts, he had not noticed the girl meet his gaze once again. Hermione cocked her head slightly, her eyes sad and her mouth slightly open, as if she had something she wanted to say. It stung, a little, to look at. He wasn't trying to upset her; he owed her that at least. _So I stayed here for this? To feel sorry for a stupid little know-it-all, to look at her at every day and feel... what? Remorse? _So furious he nearly spat, Severus glared back at her confounded expression, making it clear that nothing had changed. Finally, Hermione dropped her gaze, looking embarrassedly at the hall floor. _See, Snape? _He chided himself mentally, _even your least favorite person in this room wants positively nothing to do with you, you worthless, pathetic coward. _

Inexplicably angry at their silent exchange, Severus rose abruptly from his chair and made for the doors, long strides causing his cloak to billow behind him. He could feel the eyes of the students upon him. _Good_, he thought,_ let the little shits be scared. Teach them not to cross me. _Holding his gaze aloof, careful to avoid eye contact, he burst through the hall doors, crossed the open foyer in a few quick steps, and took the stairs two at a time down to the dungeons, where he was eager to veil these thoughts in firewhiskey for yet another night.

As he rounded the corner toward the dungeons, he heard the quick patter of running feet following him down. He picked up his pace, but the footsteps followed, matching his speed. He stopped suddenly at the bottom of a staircase, and the footsteps stopped too, a short distance behind.

Severus closed his eyes, steeling himself for the annoyance of an encounter with a nosy student. Turning slowly toward his shadow, prepared to lecture with the most mirth he had ever...

He stopped, his mouth still open but his lecture stalled, gazing up with confusion. Hermione stood on the landing, five or six steps above him, eyes wide and gazing down at him with an expression that mirrored the discomfort in his own mind. She was flushed, presumable from the exertion of keeping up with his long-legged strides, and her wavy hair was fanned out wildly across her shoulders. With the candlelight floating behind her form, she looked almost... _angelic. _

Severus shook his head to clear that thought from it, steeling a look of aloof dislike onto his face.

"May I help you, Miss Granger?" He spoke slowly, careful to fill each word with annoyance.

"P-professor, I..." she stuttered, still catching her breath. Suddenly, she looked as though she could not answer his question. " I... I just wanted... I wondered if you..." She looked distraught, and Snape's expression softened in spite of himself.

"Spit it out, Miss Granger." He sighed, annoyed but oddly curious as to why she followed him down here, to the dungeons. If he hadn't stopped, would she have followed him all the way to his rooms? The thought made him nervous.

"You came back!" She burst finally, her eyes wide and searching. He narrowed his eyes angrily. _What? _

"From the dead, yes I did, Miss Granger." _What does this pathetic little witch want from me now? Is it not enough that her very presence here tortures me with memories? _With a final glare in her direction, Snape turned and began his descent to the dungeons once again.

"No, wait. Professor." Her voice was calmer now, less scared-sounding. She ran down the steps after him, catching his arm in her small hand. "Professor Snape, I'm sorry. I just..." Her words were cut short as he whipped around, staring down at her. His face was no longer angry or annoyed; on the contrary, his eyes appeared confused, searching her face for the reason why she stopped him. And despite his previous anger and abrupt movements, Hermione did not step back, nor did she release her old on his arm when he turned. She spoke again, even calmer and more sure this time: " Professor, I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you..." She paused, her dark eyes finding his, "I want to tell you that I'm glad you came back here this year."

She let out a shaky breath, breaking their eye contact as she did. Snape did not move or speak; he just looked at her. Her gaze was averted and her cheeks pink with an embarrassed blush. She still held his arm in her small—but surprisingly strong—hand. And from where he stood, bodies close but towering over her, he could see into her sweater, right down in between her breasts. He willed himself to look away, at the same time admitting to himself that he did not want to.

Regaining his composure, he stepped back, at the same time forcefully removing himself from her hold. He concentrated on hardening his face into a menacing stare.

"Charming as you may think you're being, Miss Granger, I assure you that the feeling is not mutual. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to that you have quite rudely—and quite _inappropriately_—interrupted." And with that, he turned on his heel and made for the dungeons, hopefully too quickly for her to follow. _There, that sounded like the old Snape_, he thought to himself as we walked away. _Surely that performance will put her off any silly perception that we are friends._ But as he walked away, he couldn't help but steal one more glance at her, the sad, pretty girl he left standing at the top of the stairs.


	3. Chapter 2: At Long Last

_Author's Note: thanks for the reviews, and better yet, all of you who are following along! It's lovely to know I am doing this for more than just me. In this chapter and beyond, the italics represents Severus' thoughts. I'm not sure if that was clear before, and I think it can get slightly muddled here. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! Enjoy! _

Part One: Coming Home

Chapter 2: At Long Last

"_Still I hope and pray_

_Still I hope and pray_

_Through each weary day_

_For it brings the night and dreams of you."_

_-Ingrid Michaelson, "I'll see you in my dreams"_

_He felt, with terror and dread, the too-familiar lurch in his gut as his feet were pulled out from under him. He felt the pull of the invisible rope around his ankles drawing him upward, and the rush of blood to his head as his body was inverted. The muscles in his abdomen and arms ached with exertion as he struggled to right himself, to protect himself. Even in his dreams, he knew how this ended._

"_Lily?" He whipped his head around, searching. Where was she? She had been there just a moment before... hadn't she? He craned his neck, struggling to find her, but all the onlookers—or their legs—blended together before his eyes. _

"_Lily," he called, "help! Please, Lily!" He stretched, trying to reach his wand, but it had fallen from his pocket and onto the grass, just out of reach. He called for her yet again, searching. _

_And then he heard it. The laughter. _

_It began slowly then crescendoed, until he was surrounded by the horrible, mocking sound. It was everywhere, surrounding him, dozens of students and teachers and more, cackling cruelly at his crisis. He saw all the usual tormenters who haunted this dream regularly; Potter, Black, Lupin. And there was Moody, too, and Fletcher and the Carrows. Several Weasleys cackled in the background, including Harry's friend, and the crowd continued to grow. His robes fell, inside-out, over his face and he was grateful for the cover as tears welled in his eyes. The laughter grew even louder, even more horrid as his underpants were exposed. Then, the laughter stopped. He heard angry yelling_. Lily!_ He thought, _she's here!_ He pulled them hem of his robes up slightly, peeking out from under them, looking toward the sound of the shouting. _Lily?_ He searched out that familiar shock of fiery hair_. Lily...

_But when she turned, it wasn't Lily's face staring back at him, contorted in anger and concern. No, she was taller, curvier, with a familiar halo of bushy brown hair..._

Gasping, Severus sat up in bed, fisting the blankets and clutching them to his chest. He heaved, gagging at the horrible, contorted memory. All the versions of this nightmare, and he never stopped waking up covered in sweat, ready to vomit. Sucking in air, he stumbled out of bed and into his tiny kitchen, fumbling wildly in the dark for a glass. Finding one, he reached for the firewhiskey and the glass slipped, shattering on the granite counter under his fingers. Cursing, Severus unscrewed the firewhiskey's lid with one hand, hardly noticing the blood oozing from the cuts on his other. Still shaking from his nightmare, he sank to the floor in an exhausted heap, cradling the bottle and breathing long, shuddering breaths. The cool stone floors soothed him, and he soon found himself lying flush on them, the gnarly scars on his bare back cooling against the dungeon floor.

When his breathing finally returned to normal—thanks in no small part to several long swigs of firewhiskey—he allowed himself to think about his nightmare. This was not the first time that students or Order members had been in this dream, partaking in the most humiliating moment of his life alongside James Potter and his friends. These versions of the dream were the worst, when his colleagues and fellow Order members, whom he was supposed to trust, taunted and belittled him along with his childhood enemies.

But this _was_ the first time it wasn't Lily who came to defend him in the end. _Granger? What the hell is that about? _He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was just coincidence, she was on his mind because he had been so surprised to see her the day before. This modified version of his nightmare was just that; one more way his fucked-up mind would find to haunt him.

But as he drifted to sleep on the cold stone floor of his kitchen, drunk and hurt and bleeding, he allowed himself to hope, just for tonight, that it meant at long last he might have an ally.

After an unfortunately long lunch spent feigning interest in Sprout's latest harvest, Severus wandered back down to his classroom in the dungeons, anxious for a moment of peace and quiet before this afternoon's double potions lesson with the Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years. _More like triple potions with all these extra returning students_ he grumbled to himself, scowling. If he were being honest with himself, he would have recognized that the true reason for his irritability was neither large class sizes nor Sprout's incessant prattling at the head table. It was not even the dull ache that last night's firewhiskey binge had caused in his head today. No, he was dreading another uncomfortable encounter with Granger, especially after his dream the night before. In spite of himself, he was feeling somewhat softer toward after she came to his aid in his dream.

Severus shook his head violently to clear his thoughts, then reeled when his hangover caused the room to spin. _Snap out of it, Snape, _he scolded himself_, it was only a dream. _Still, the anger he had felt at the sorting was gone, replaced with the usual mild hatred he felt for all the students. _Good, we are making progress. See, your life can get back to normal, too. _Snape scoffed at his own thoughts. His life had never been normal.

As he settled in behind his desk, prepared to spend a few quiet moments with his book, he was distracted by the soft rustling of paper. He looked toward the noise and right into the eyes of Hermione Granger, sitting at her usual desk in the front row with a worn tome open in front of her. He drew in his breath sharply, his mouth hanging open. She simply smiled her small smile and returned to her own book without saying a word.

He didn't know what to do. He had no cause to punish her for being early to class, and she had done nothing wrong except make him feel anxious and extremely uncomfortable.

But what was worse, he could seem to make himself look away from her. He was oddly entranced by her as she slowly turned the pages of her book. He hadn't noticed until just now that she looked thinner since the war. He wasn't surprised, knowing that she and her companions had lived on very little when they were on the run from Voldemort. He couldn't help but think she looked good—older—this slender. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, but her face still appeared kind, and her full lips pursed in a way that made Severus quite nervous. His eyes traveled down her dark waves and touched on her breasts, which strained against her blouse with each breath. He wanted... _No! Fuck, Snape, she's a student!_ Severus tore his eyes away from her, kicking himself for his thoughts. _Get a grip, you idiot! Remember who she is, who her friends are._

Severus wanted to say something to her, something to convince himself that he hadn't just been ogling her, something mean and cruel and sharp _and something witty and charming... no! _He wanted to scare and intimidate her _and make her laugh_ and punish her for catching him off-guard. But he was unable to form any words, so he remained silent and angry behind his desk, feigning interest in his own book, while he snuck frequent glances at the witch on the other side of the room.

An hour later, the room was hot. Steaming, in fact, and overcrowded with teenagers and cauldrons and one very irritable potions master. The warm September afternoon did nothing to alleviate the muggy heat, though the tiny windows at the top of the dungeon walls had long since been opened.

The students had removed as many layers as was decent, working only in their uniform shirts and trousers. Severus watched from the front of the room, robeless himself and fighting the urge to unbutton his own shirt a few inches for fear of exposing his heinous scars. He was exhausted and frustrated and aching from his night spent on the kitchen floor. And the lesson was going poorly.

"Scourgify!" He yelled, vanishing yet another student's work. "Start over, Clemmons," he ordered, causing the pale Slytherin boy to yelp and run for the cupboard of ingredients. The heels of Snape's boots clicked across the stone floors. "I expect much, much more of seventh year students." He spoke sharply. "_All_ of you need notable improvement if you even hope to pass your N.E.W.T.S." _Good, they look frightened. I will show these little brats exactly how scary the real world can be. _

Returning to his desk, Severus looked across the steamy classroom at the students. _Fuck, it's hot in here. _The heat was making him short-tempered, even more so than usual. He twisted his neck around, trying to stretch out the painful kinks from his night on the floor, caused by yet another version of the same horrible dream. Mentally, he chastised himself for his inability to cope with an event that happened so long ago. _Grow up, coward!_ Much worse things had happened to him since that day in his fifth year. Severus mindlessly touched his throat through his collared shirt, fingering his long scar, as if to remind himself that that was true. _Yes, much, much worse things. _

And the girl. As if it weren't enough that she had haunted his dreams, now she was sitting right in front of him, her cleavage exposed from her open shirt as she leaned over her cauldron. _Oh, Merlin._ He rubbed his hands over his face, willing himself not to look. Hermione reached and twisted her long hair off her neck, the hem of her shirt riding up and exposing her stomach. Severus nearly growled. As if to punish her for drawing his attention this way, he raised his wand and quickly emptied her cauldron from across the room.

"Granger!" he barked, knowing full well that her potion had been perfect, "start again!" Hermione stared down at her empty cauldron, mouth open in shock. A fierce blush overtook her face, and she raised her eyes to his, full of angry confusion. Swearing under her breath, she stood from her chair and crossed the room to the cupboard of ingredients, hastily gathering a new set. "Five points for swearing," he told her as she passed his desk.

Satisfied with himself—_That will keep her away from me and out of my dreams!—_Severus sat back in his chair, stretching his sore muscles. He vaguely wondered at his own age, how ten years ago, sleeping on the floor wouldn't have phased him. Now, he felt like he'd been hit with a nasty curse, and the steamy heat wasn't helping. He glanced at Hermione collecting her materials again, stretching on her toes to reach the top shelf. Her uniform skirt rose, exposing the backs of her pale thighs. Severus' breathing quickened as he watched. _What would it be like to run my fingers up those thighs? _She continued to reach, her skirt inching higher. _I don't think I can take much more! _Despite his better judgment, Snape crossed the room to help her reach the elusive ingredient. Hovering behind her, he reached over her head and easily plucked the tiny bottle from the shelf. Startled, Hermione turned in surprise, and they were suddenly very close. _Too close._

"Are you a witch or not, Miss Granger?" He asked quietly. Though he meant to sound sarcastic, his voice came out huskier than he would have liked. "Perhaps in your time away, you've forgotten how to use a simple summoning charm?" He watched her blush and felt a pang of remorse for his cruel words.

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she whispered, staring at her feet. He held out the offending bottle to her, and when she reached for it, he did not let it go. _What are you doing, Snape? _For a moment they both held it, and when her fingertips brushed his, a few purplish sparks snapped in the air. _What is this magic? _He gazed at their hands in wonder_. What is she doing to me? _

A sudden crash interrupted his reverie. A Gryffindor boy had dropped a glass vial, the contents of which were now foaming, bright red and noxious, across the dungeon floor.

"Nelson!" Severus barked. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!" The students scattered, shouting and running for the exit as the smelly red foam chased their heels. "Out!" Severus ordered, pointing to the door. _They wouldn't be laughing if they knew how hard it is to get ride of this stuff! _As the last of the students evacuated, he knew his class was finished for the day, and more disappointingly, he thought, so was his time with Hermione.

Until he turned around, and she was still there. _What is she doing? _

"Miss Granger," he warned, employing his most menacing voice, "did you not hear my instructions to leave the room?"

She tilted her head as if she was considering his words, and without providing an answer, turned and began muttering spells under her breath. Severus watched as the noxious foam began to retreat from their feet, folding in on itself, appearing to shrivel as it dissipated. He could hardly believe his eyes. _Merlin, that's some powerful magic. _Not to be outdone, Severus followed suit, the two of them working side-by-side to clear the room of the rancid red foam. He couldn't help but notice that her side was clearing more quickly. He tried to focus on his spell, but found himself still distracted by her exposed chest, her long, wild hair.

When the foam was gone and Hermione made to collect her things, Severus suddenly did not want her to go.

"Thank you for staying, Miss Granger." He forced, swallowing his pride. He was sure that the gratitude he felt did not reach his voice. "Of course, I could have handled it alone just fine." _Well now she knows you're a conceited bastard, good going. _

Hermione smiled at him, an occurrence he was growing to appreciate. "It was no problem, Professor. It really does reek, doesn't it?"

Severus smiled in spite of himself. "Yes, it really does. Come, I'll see you out." He followed her to the door and up the dungeon stairs, leading her with one hand, the other hovering awkwardly inches from her lower back. He wanted to rest it there, but he did not want to scare her. Besides, his intentions were less than noble. But his internal struggle ended when she slowed on the steps and his hand made contact. It surprised him at first; he stiffened, afraid to move. But Hermione kept climbing the stairs, seemingly unphased, so in a rare moment of bravery, he left his hand on her lower back, feeling the muscles move beneath it.

In the nook at the top of the steps, she turned, so close again, and still smiling. He felt..._warm._ He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think. She was close, and he could see right down her blouse. He stared at her, prepared to lose the moment, when voices came from around the corner, carrying clearly to their ears:

"Merlin, he's _horrid _this term!"

"Why did he even come back?"

"He obviously doesn't want to be a professor!"

It took Severus a moment too long to realize that the students were talking about him. He caught Hermione's eyes, still just inches from his own, with a look of surprise, and he held her concerned gaze as the voices continued:

"What an arse!"

"Fuck that Death Eater!"

He normally wouldn't have cared to hear what his students really thought about him; hell, he would have relished in it. But to be here, sharing this moment with one of the few people who knew about his life more than anyone else... it was humiliating.

"I can't believe he's still here. He was on you-know-who's side!"

"Death Eater! I wonder if he has the mark still?"

"I heard he nearly died in the war."

"I wish he would have!"

Hermione gasped. He wasn't surprised at their words. He didn't care. But then why was it so horrible to hear, standing here, watching Hermione's face contort in anger at the remarks of her peers?

As the students erupted in laughter, Hermione burst forth from the nook in the wall, hollering and cursing and flinging sparks from her wand.

"You lot should be ashamed of yourselves! Show some respect, you ignorant, insolent, spoiled..." Eyes blazing, she flung a curse after each word, sending the group fleeing down the hall. "Shoo, all of you!" She cried, sending more sparks after them.

Flushed and shaking, she looked to her professor. She wanted to say something kind and comforting, something to make him know that it wasn't true, that she was glad he had lived. But when she turned to him, he had already gone.


	4. Chapter 3: Something I Do

Part One: Coming Home

Chapter 3: Something I do

"_Light up, light up  
As if you have a choice  
Even if you cannot hear my voice  
I'll be right beside you dear."_

_-Snow Patrol, "Run" _

Severus tore through the hall, wrapping his billowing cloak around his body. He had to be quick, had to make it back to his rooms. He took the stairs two at a time, dispelling groups of students as he walked briskly through without so much as an acknowledgement. The headmistress called his name, but he pretended not to hear her. He burst into his quarters and slammed the door behind him, leaning back against it, breathing hard.

That insufferable Granger. Didn't she know what she was doing to him? _Merlin, I hope she doesn't know. I hope nobody ever knows. _He just wanted a book, some time alone in the library on this quiet Sunday morning. He hadn't expected a student to be there, nonetheless the one who had been a fixture in his mind the last several days. He watched unseen from behind a shelf _like the total fucking stalker that I am_ as she read, curled up in an overstuffed armchair and chewing her bottom lip. He wasn't sure how long he watched before she got up to stretch. That was where he ran into trouble.

She reached over her head, her tiny purple t-shirt – _how does she get away with wearing a shirt that small anyway? —_rising to expose her soft-looking stomach and more of her hips above her low-rise jeans than Severus believed she would be comfortable with him seeing. Her body nipped in at the waist, and he had a strong desire to put his hands there. The outline of her bra was visible through her shirt, and when she closed her eyes, stretching and rubbing her neck, Severus actually shivered. She was beautiful, and he really, really wanted to touch her.

Herimione's book suddenly dropped from where she had left it, laid open on the arm of her chair, and the resounding _clunk _snapped Severus out of his daydream. Suddenly, he was very aware of the growing bulge in his trousers. He could hardly believe himself; ogling a student, and getting a hard-on like a teenager! _What the fuck, Snape. What are you doing? She's a child! And Potter's best friend! _But his thoughts did not quell his erection. He shifted, willing himself to think about Umbridge or even Hagrid, but his hormones had other plans. Whether it was his movement or simply the feeling of being watched, Hermione turned her gaze in his direction, and he was forced to duck behind the shelves or risk being caught spying, and with a raging erection. _Well that certainly wouldn't look good. _

Now, safe in the confines of his rooms, the problem in his pants had subsided, but he couldn't shake the image of her lithe body twisting and her skin exposed. He was furious with his mind and body both for reacting to her in this way; it was horrible: for a student, Potter's friend, _that girl..._

But as disgusted as he was with himself, a profound feeling of relief washed over him: this kind of thing hadn't happened to him since before the war. Perhaps he was finally beginning to heal.

Classes on Monday were unbearable, what with the combination of Severus' increased self-loathing and the unseasonable heat they were experiencing; if he had to sit through another period averting his eyes from Hermione's open shirt, her wild hair piled on her head, exposing her neck, her flushed cheeks... _Gods, I cannot take it. _He wasn't sure if it was the heat or his anger or his attraction to her, but as he passed between the aisles of desks and his hand brushed against her hair, a few purplish sparks crackled between them.

On Tuesday morning, over a hundred house points were taken during the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor fifth year double potions class. Word spread across the school of the professor's foul temperament. Severus himself was keen enough to understand the origins of his mood: first, there was no seventh year potions on Tuesday, and second, he had not slept well, due to a terrifying dream involving a tight purple t-shirt and his hands cupping two full, beautiful breasts...

She was invading every part of his life.

On Wednesday afternoon, the dungeon classroom felt like an oven. The seventh years were having difficulty concentrating, as was their professor, though for an entirely different reason: with her legs crossed at the knee, Hermione's skirt inched up and exposed her thigh to a most dangerous height. As she copied from her book, Severus watched her, eyes drifting back to that leg every few seconds. He idly wondered what kind of panties she wore, just inches higher than he was able to see right now. He flexed his fingers beneath his desk, itching to touch her skin, hold her against him and run his hand up her bare leg...

"Out!" he bellowed suddenly, startling his class. "Class dismissed, now leave!"

The befuddled mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered their possessions hastily, running from the room. Hermione was among the last to leave, and she gave him a quizzical look as she passed his desk.

When he was sure that the last of the students were gone, Severus slipped into the supply closet and locked the door behind him with his wand. _Merlin, what is she doing to me? _His breathing was ragged; he was so aroused. His erection once again strained against his trousers. _I can't believe I'm doing this;_ he chided himself as he removed it from his pants,_ in the supply closet, and because of a student, nonetheless. _He held his cock awkwardly in his hand; it had been so long since he had done this; since before the war, at least... he couldn't remember, exactly. He stroked himself slowly, thinking of her stretching in the library, cross-legged in his classroom, reaching to the top shelf...

_Whoa. _He shuddered slightly. It felt _good. _He let himself relax, enjoying his ministrations. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed faster. Hermione's soft lips against his, Hermione pinned between him and a wall, Hermione in his bed...

Suddenly, Severus froze. _What the fuck am I doing? _He glanced around the empty closet, feeling a sickening lump in his stomach. Almost immediately, he went soft in his hand. _What the fuck, Snape? Wanking to Hermione-fucking-Granger? _He sank to the floor. _As if you stand a fucking chance. You are old and scarred and horrible, _he berated himself. _And not to mention she fucking hates you. _Despite the deep ache in his heart and in his groin, at least he was finally wanking to a girl who was alive.

Thursday, there was no seventh year potions, which Severus was grateful for, given the lingering heat and the events of the previous day. And thanks to a heavy dose of firewhiskey, his sleep was also blissfully peaceful.

On Friday afternoon, it had finally cooled down enough that all the students remained in the appropriate amount of clothing, but Severus couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed. His spirits were up, but sank quickly when McGonagall crept in just a minute to the bell to inform him that she had Hermione performing a special task and the girl would not be in his class today. Severus was short with the headmistress, but had no choice but to oblige.

The next time he saw her—_and not a moment too soon—_it was the middle of the night in a corridor near Ravenclaw tower, and she was reprimanding two awkward fourth years.

"C'mon, Hermione! You don't have to do that!" one whined.

"Matthew, you know the rules. You break them, I take points." Hands on her hips, she did not notice Severus as he approached.

"But we know you broke curfew when you..."

"...And Miss Granger was punished accordingly," Severus finished, staring down at the boys from beside the Head Girl. _Merlin, she smells so good. _"Now, off to bed with the both of you. And ten more points from Ravenclaw for your petulance." The boys trudged off, reluctant to argue with their intimidating Potions Master.

With a scowl, Hermione turned to him. "I could have handled that just fine on my own," her expression irritated but amused, "but thank you."

"Of course, Miss Granger."

Despite his better judgment, Severus fell into step beside her as she continued down the corridor. The pair walked in comfortable silence for a while, but Severus wanted desperately to strike up a conversation with her.

"Head Girl, then." _What a stupid thing to say; surely she knows!_

"Yes." She didn't even look at him.

"Are you... enjoying your duties?"

She studied him warily, as though it might have been a trick question. Finally, she sighed. "It's just something I do, you know?" she asked, shrugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's something I always wanted, before. So when McGonagall offered it to me... I just do it to remember. I do it for the person I used to be." She spoke the last words softly, looking at the floor as they walked.

"So you don't want to be the Head Girl?"

"It's not that... it's just that it feels... _odd_."

"How so?"

She sighed. "My friends are dead, and so much has happened, and yet here I am, going on like it didn't. I wanted this once, but that was before the war. Now, I don't really know what I want."

For a time, their footsteps were the only sound in the dark corridor. How was it that this young witch had voiced so clearly exactly what he himself was feeling?

"So why do it, then?" he asked finally.

"Do what?"

"Act like nothing has changed?

She considered his question for a moment. "I guess it's just easier to pretend everything is the same than to figure out how to live knowing everything has changed." _Fuck, she has me pegged. How does she do this? _

"I see."

"So I suppose the answer is no," she laughed dryly, "I am not enjoying it."

He glanced at her, his brows furrowed. "I'm sure if you spoke with the Headmistress..."

"No!" she yelped, grabbing his elbow and turning him to face her. _She is so close. _"Professor, no. I'm fine." She said desperately. "You can't tell McGonagall." He looked down at her. She was so serious, staring up at him with big, hazel eyes. _Such nice eyes. _

"I'm sure she would understand, given..." he trailed off. For a moment they just stared at each other, her still holding his arm, both thinking of those they had lost and knowing the other was doing the same. _She is so beautiful... and perhaps just as damaged as I am? _

"I just want to pretend, for a while longer, that things haven't changed." She said finally. Well, he knew what that was like. And he found himself nodding, complying, following her down the hall again.

_I will do anything she asks of me. _

His own thought surprised him; he had not felt this kind of attachment _not to mention this kind of attraction _to anyone in a long, long time. What was this?

"What about you?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Have you enjoyed being back?"

He did not know how to answer. How did he tell her that he knew how she felt, that he just wanted to live as it always had been so that he did not have to accept all the horrible things that had come to pass? _Don't get too personal with a student, Snape; _he scolded himself, _especially this one..._

"It's been fine." _It's been incredibly difficult, but easier now. _

"And your classes? How are they this term?"

"As trying as ever." _Especially the ones you're in, though for a different reason._

"You're being awfully evasive, Professor."

Severus stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared at her. She was smirking, her eyes narrowed... _playfully? _

"Miss Gran..."

"Call me Hermione." _Is she moving closer? _

"Miss Granger, you are quite insufferable, and nosy as well." He failed to keep the amusement from his voice.

She laughed a pure, loud laugh that echoed down the hall. _What a great sound. _He found himself smiling, in spite of himself. "Professor, you sound just like my boyfriend." She laughed again.

Severus was sure the disappointment was evident on his face, though she probably didn't see in the dark hall. _Her boyfriend? _Ah yes, that stupid oaf Weasley. _Of course she has a boyfriend, you idiot, look at her! _For some reason, Severus felt enraged. _Why? Is not as though she's actually _interested _in you. What do you have to be possessive of? _But still, he hated the idea of that idiot with his hands... _Stop. You're here with her now. _

Hermione must have sensed the awkward silence, because she quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, it's Quidditch on Saturday," she said, resuming her pace.

"I have never cared for Quidditch." _Now, now, no need to be an arse._

She laughed again—_I made her laugh! —"_No, I don't care for it much either. But I do love Quidditch days; the castle is so quiet."

"Hmm."

"I used to sneak off to the library." _Oh Merlin, the library... _

"Yes, Hogwarts is more pleasant when the incessant chatter is at a minimum."

She smiled. "Will you be going to the match? Or enjoying the quiet inside?"

"I was actually hoping to use the weekend to clean out the storerooms. Slughorn left them in all kinds of disarray..."

"How very dull."

Before he knew what he was doing, he let out a short laugh that sounded more like a bark. She looked frightened for a moment at the odd sound, but then joined in. Soon, they were chuckling together as they walked.

"Yes, I suppose it is quite dull," he agreed. "Ask me any more personal questions, and I'll be forced to assign you to detention just to avoid the task myself." The thought of a Saturday afternoon alone with Hermione in the dark, cramped storeroom was enough to tempt him...

"I'll admit, I am quite tempted." She told him, looking coy.

"What?"

"It would be lovely to have a solid excuse for Ginny why I can't go to Quidditch." She laughed again. "And oddly, an afternoon of peace and quiet sounds ideal about now."

Severus stopped walking again, looking down at her. "Well, then, Miss Granger, I will be forced to assign you to detention with me this Saturday at noon on the grounds of over-familiarity with a professor." He announced this firmly, but his mind was reeling. _Alone in a cupboard with Granger? Are you going to be able to handle yourself? Better yet, do you _want _to? _

She crossed her arms in an exaggerated gesture and stuck out her bottom lip. _Oh, that lip! _"I suppose I just won't be able to make it to Quidditch, then!" She shrugged sarcastically. He smiled, at the prospect of her detention more than her act.

A few more passes through the central corridors, and they found themselves in front of the fat lady's portrait. Hermione yawned and stretched, and Severus could not help but watch as her breasts strained against her t-shirt, the hem rising to expose her flat stomach. _What am I getting myself into? _

"I'm going to get some sleep," she announced. Severus, disappointed, made to leave her behind at the portrait, but she caught his arm and squeezed. "Goodnight, Professor. I'll see you on Saturday." And then she winked.

She disappeared into the hole behind the portrait, leaving him staring after her, holding the spot just above his elbow where she had just touched him.

"I know smitten when I see it, professor." The fat lady whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh, shut up," he spat, disappearing down the hall.


	5. Chapter 4: Quite Frankly

_Author's note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful kind words on the last chapter. What a wonderful Christmas surprise to wake up to your praise! I swear I was giddy all day. I hope the next part of the story is as well-received, and I hope it helps to clear up a few of the (very important) questions that readers raised. Oh, and _excessivelyperky: _you're __good__ ;) _

Part Two: Together

Chapter 4: Quite Frankly

"_Roll away your stone, I'll roll away mine_

_Together we can see what we will find. _

_Don't leave me alone at this time_

_For am afraid of what I will discover inside." _

_-Mumford and Sons, "Roll Away your Stone" _

The first Saturday in October dawned crisp and clear and with Severus tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk as he waited for Hermione. He had an odd feeling in his chest, sort of tingly and warm. _Merlin, I cannot wait to see her. _

She floated in a few minutes later, all flushed cheeks and wild hair, and flopped into the chair opposite his desk... wearing the exact same tiny purple shirt she'd worn the previous weekend in the library, when he had been spying on her. Suppressing the gasp in his throat, he forced his eyes onto hers and gave a curt nod.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

"Morning, professor." She smiled at him conspiratorially, at the false detention for which she was in his office that morning. Disarmed as he was by her charming smile, Severus found he quite liked sharing secrets with the young witch. As he watched her mindlessly twisting an errant curl, he felt the conflicted pull of excitement at the prospect of spending the day with her and guilt for keeping her from her friends.

"Miss Granger," he began formally, forcing a professional demeanor, "I feel as though I must ask: are you... I mean, is this really how you want to spend your Saturday?" He cleared his throat to suppress the lump forming there. _Oh yeah, and what are you going to do if she's changed her mind? _The self-loathing part of his mind asked snidely. _Way to fuck up your perfect chance before it's begun._

Hermione dropped the curl and looked at him, wide-eyed. "Of course!" She blurted suddenly, scooting to the edge of her seat and flattening her palms on the edge of his desk. Severus's heart jumped at her enthusiasm, relief calming his nerves.

Hermione seemed to recover herself a little, and stared meekly at her hands, spread across the professor's desk. "That is, if you still want... I mean, I understand if you don't..."

"No!" he very nearly yelped, throwing his hands over hers, grasping her as if she might fly away. She looked startled, but not afraid, of his sudden display, but she didn't pull her hands away. "No, I do..." Severus told her, more calmly now that he was fairly certain she wouldn't go. "I would love some help." For a slightly uncomfortable moment, he just watched her, smiling uncertainly. He was aware that he still held her hands pinned to his desk, but he could not bring himself to move; her small, warm hands felt so nice in his, and his stomach flipped, excited by their proximity. He did not notice the small purplish sparks emitting from between their clasped hands.

"You know, professor," she said finally, sliding her hands out from under his, "If you could ever use some help around here, you can just ask me." She smiled again at him, looking up at him through her lashes. "There's no need to assign false detentions, or hold me by force." She nodded to the desk, where his own large, pale hands were still splayed.

He stared at her for a moment, then realized she was teasing him. He straightened himself in his chair, trying to hide the furious blush he felt rising in his cheeks. _Merlin, you're such an arse, Snape._

A tense moment passed before Hermione, perhaps sensing it, clapped her hands together and rose from her seat. "So, shall we get started?"

Three hours later, the pair had carefully removed each of the hundreds of boxes, bottles, vials, and casks of various potion ingredients from the shelves of the expansive supply closet and lined them carefully along every surface of the professor's office. It was a dirty job; dust hung in the air, illuminated by the streaks of bright October sun streaming through the windows.

"Merlin, it's everywhere!" Hermione giggled as she used a damp cloth to wipe a streak of gray dust from her elbow. "I'm tempted to whip out my wand and 'scourgify' the whole place!"

Severus frowned. "Oh no you won't, not unless you care to blow up the whole castle." His own wand was tucked away safely in his desk, safely out of contact with the hundreds of volatile potion ingredients strewn around the room. "Although sometimes, when I see those first-year essays..."

Hermione burst into laughter, clutching her ribs. _I made her laugh!_ "Oh professor," she gave him a pretend scornful look, "perhaps you'll feel better after lunch."

Lest a house elf set of a dangerous magical reaction by appearing in the office, Severus had prepared sandwiches for he and his assistant, which they ate picnic-style on the floor, surrounded by containers of doxy egg and snakeweed and asphodel.

"Professor," Hermione asked suddenly, staring intently at a tomato on her sandwich, "can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." She peered up at him timidly, and it occurred to him that whatever the question, it had taken some courage to bring it up. He resisted the urge to reach out to her, to caress her shoulder and let her know not to be afraid of him. But remembering how she removed her hands from his grip a few hours before, he nodded brusquely instead.

"Alright." he laid down his meal, giving her all of his attention. She looked surprised.

"Oh, okay. Well, it's just that..." she trailed off, gazing up at him. He looked at her expectantly, trying his hardest to look kind. "I just, I wanted to know why you came back."

Despite himself, Severus stiffened at her words. It was an oddly personal question, one he often asked of himself. But he found he didn't mind giving the answer, not to the disarming young woman who sat before him.

"Hermione," he began, using her given name for the first time, "You must know that it is... _uncomfortable_... for me to spend time with someone who knows so much of my past." _More than uncomfortable, _he thought to himself, _more like downright excruciating, especially when that person is forcing her way into my life, giving me inconvenient erections and invading my dreams... _

"Yes," she said.

"And you know, better than most, that I have... faced a lot."

"Yes," she repeated, he voice lower.

"But then again," he continued, "so have you."

"Yes," she almost whispered.

"I want..." he faltered. _I want what? Someone to talk to? What a pussy. To be friends? She won't believe you, you cruel old arse. _Severus scrambled for words, his disjointed thoughts working against him. _Well just tell her the truth: that you want to pin her to your desk like you pinned her hands there and lose yourself in her you don't even remember your own name._

"Professor," she broke the silence, scooting forward on crossed legs until her knees touched his. "I think, you and I, we're the only souls in this castle who really know." Know what, she didn't say, but he understood and nodded. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down between them, "for before. I know now that you didn't deserve the way we treated you." Severus struggled to find words, but their close proximity and her stark honestly clogged his throat; he could only shake his head vigorously. "And I'm sorry," she continued, "If this seems too forward now." She took his hands in hers, looking up into his startled eyes. "But I could really use a friend here and, quite frankly, Professor, I think you could too."

There was a part of Severus, almost the overpowering part, that wanted to tear away from the girl, stand up, and scold her harshly, order her out, and proceed to push her from his mind. This part wanted to crawl into his dungeon hole and continue his miserable existence as it was before this nosy, loud, insufferable witch forced her way into his life.

A second part of him yearned to clasp her face between his hands and kiss her roughly, pin her to the hard stone floor and grind himself against her, hold her hips against his and make her feel his hardness, make her know how much he wanted her. He wanted to tear away that fucking purple t-shirt and bite and suck her breasts; he wanted to hear her moan.

But the small part of Severus that was rational—certainly neither his cold, damaged heart nor the heat of another part of his anatomy—knew that neither of the conflicting sides of him could win. He could no more extract Hermione from his life as he could take her there on the dungeon floor.

So instead, before he quite knew what he was doing, he nodded.

She squeezed his hands in hers, smiling. He found himself smiling back.

"You wanted..." he coughed, clearing the emotion from his voice, "you wanted to know why I came back."

"Professor, you don't..."

"No," he interrupted, "no, if we're going to be friends, you need to know." The truth of it was, he wanted to tell her. It would be the first true test of their friendship: he would reveal his weakness, and see if she stuck around.

"Okay." She looked slightly worried.

"The day I was to be released from St. Mungo's," he began, "McGonagall came to see me. She was all apologies, thanking me for my service and whatnot." He waved his hand as though this service was a minor detail. "Anyway, she assured me my post at Hogwarts was still open, and should I wish to return, she'd be happy to have me. Of course, that was rubbish..."

"A bit awkward, was it?" Hermione interrupted, " What with her having attempted to murder you a few months before?"

Severus barked a disdainful laugh. "Yes, well. I had no intention of going back, before that. But when I got to Spinner's End... my home," he told her, answering her quizzical look, "It had been claimed by the ministry. You see, there was this little matter that I was supposed to be dead..." He scoffed again. " So I had to stay here, at Hogwarts, until I could get everything sorted out with the ministry, to give me my house back. When they _finally _signed it over to me again, it was late August. The teachers and staff were back, as well as a few early students. I'd gotten used to the noise and activity of the castle again, though I didn't realize it." He looked at Hermione, who was listening to his story with rapt but not pitying attention. "I spent one night at Spinner's End before I cam crawling back, begging McGonagall for my job," he nearly whispered. He couldn't believe he was being so candid; he supposed it was catching.

"You didn't want to be alone." Hermione stated firmly, as if diagnosing him.

He didn't contradict her. "The house was so quiet," he stared between them, unable to meet her eye.

Spinner's End was sparsely decorated, as it always had been, but the high ceilings and empty white walls suddenly seemed terrifyingly bright when he came home. He covered the windows and cowered in the bedroom like a bat in his cave, but still, the house was so light. And so quiet. While the lights of London penetrated the barriers of his sanctuary, the noise was kept out, so Severus had been left alone with his thoughts and his ghosts.

It was unbearable to think of endless months of that existence, so he returned to the comfortable, dark dungeons of Hogwarts. And as much as he hated it, teaching gave his mind something to do, something to focus on other than his own demons.

"Ron couldn't stand it either," she said finally, "being alone." Severus was relieved to have the focus of their conversation off of him for a moment, even if that meant bringing up her boyfriend. "He was usually fine during the day, since there were obviously a lot of people around to occupy his mind." Severus couldn't quite remember exactly how many Weasley children there were, only that he seemed to have at least three in class each year. "But he had these terrible nightmares," she told him, "or _has_, I guess..."

"You don't see him often?" He asked.

"Not since I've been back here." She shook her head. "He always wanted to sleep with me... In the _bed _with me," she corrected herself, blushing. "He said it made the nightmares better."

He pictured Hermione, holding the shaking Weasley against her chest, stroking his back and soothing him against his dreams. Severus was sure his own hellish nightmares would abate should he have such a brave and comforting presence in his bed.

"And did it?" He was genuinely curious.

"I don't think so," she said slowly, shaking her head. "He still... well, I don't think I should be telling you this." She blushed.

"No, I suppose not." They were quiet for a moment, before he asked, "what about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"Why did you decide to come back for your seventh year, while your companions did not?"

She screwed up her face in concentration, as if she was unsure of the answer to his question. A moment later, she answered, speaking slowly.

"I _said _that it was because I felt I had more to learn..." She cocked her head to the side. "But—and I hope you don't think me vain for saying so—that is not really the truth."

"What is the truth, then?"

She sighed. "The truth is, I don't know how to move on."

"I see," he said, giving her an encouraging nod.

"You have to understand," she explained, " The only wizarding world I've ever known is Hogwarts. Well, and the war. But... Harry and Ron were so _sure_, you know? They knew the next step. They are training to become aurors now. But me, I don't think a career, an apprenticeship... none of that would help me. I have to figure out my next step here," she pointed to her chest, "before I can do any of that."

"And the best way to figure out how to move forward was to take a step back?"

Hermione smiled at him. "I guess, in a way, I didn't want to be alone either."

Severus was smiling uncharacteristically as he organized his stash of ingredients. Glancing over his shoulder at the beautiful young witch dusting in the cupboard, he felt oddly peaceful, and for the first time in a long, long time, he felt a sort of lingering, thrilled excitement in his chest. He wasn't sure, at first, what to call this new emotion; he was excited but not anxious, contented but not sedated. As Hermione turned and smiled, her hair floating wildly around her face, it suddenly dawned on him: it was hope.

Reluctant as he was to see her go, he was pleased by the assurance that he would see her again soon: in class, but also for a butterbeer in Hogsmeade the following weekend. He was anxious to see her again, talk to her, this young woman who was proving to challenge him both emotionally and intellectually.

That night, Severus slept soundly. He dreamt of neither Lily nor Voldemort nor Dumbledore. All the usual haunters of his sleep were silent, leaving him to his thought—his memories—of Hermione. As he poured his morning tea, it occurred to him that perhaps her comforting presence in his life was sufficient guard against nightmares, her presence in his bed not as necessary as he'd imagined. Not to say he still wouldn't like that very much, but it was reassuring to know that the comfort stayed, even when she was gone.

But what of her intentions? Surely he was not imagining it, the way she held his hip as she moved around him in the close quarters of the closet, how she fiddled with her hair and reached around him tightly, brushing his arm with her breasts. Each time she came so close, his chest constricted and he felt their proximity in his groin. Was she doing it knowingly, or was this simply the easy, careless way she moved, oblivious to the growing lust of her potions professor?

Severus carried his tea into the bathroom, and he at once knew the answer to these questions: staring back at him from the mirror above the sink was a gaunt and aging face, set atop a gnarled body, knotted with scars like the tree through which he nearly found his death. He traced his finger along the worst of the scars, the crooked purplish one winding from ear to shoulder.

_Stupid bastard, _he told himself. _Where do you get off hoping she could ever be interested in someone like you? _

He traced the scar again, quicker this time, as if miming slitting his throat.

_What an idiot. She is young and beautiful and so smart and what are you? Some lonely old pervert who can't think outside his pants for long enough to realize she would be better off without you. _

His hands shook, heat rising in chest in anger at the truth he already knew.

_Sick fuck! Fantasizing about bedding a student. What a pathetic, weak, damaged..._

The mirror exploded, sending fine silvery splinters into the air, and Severus collapsed to the floor.


	6. Chapter 5: How Hard it Still Is

_Author's Note: You guys are the absolute BEST. You don't know how fulfilling it is to know you're enjoying this. Makes my heart happy _

Part Two: Together

Chapter 5: How Hard it Still Is

"_Never mind what I knew, nothing seems to matter now  
Ooh, who I was without you, I can do without  
No one knows where it ends, how it may come tumbling down  
But I'm here with you now  
I'm with you now." _

_-Sara Bareilles, "The Light" _

Classes, the weather, and Severus' mood that week were all truly horrible.

When he wasn't teaching, the professor spent his time in a firewhiskey-induced stupor, sitting solemnly in the dark confines of his rooms, brooding on a certain beautiful, dynamic witch and his own self-hatred.

He did not bother to clean up the broken mirror, nor did he try to remove the glass splinters from where they had embedded themselves in his chest and shoulders. They itched and stung, but he barely noticed.

On Wednesday, he came upon Hermione in the corridor and quickly turned around before she saw him. She had been laughing with a group of seventh years, her head thrown back, her wild curls cascading down her back. He briefly imagined knotting his fingers in that hair, pinning her to the wall with his hips, and biting her neck. _Don't you know what you do to me, witch? _

He wasn't stupid. He was attracted to her, but this was more than that. He wanted to kiss her, but he wanted to converse with her just as fiercely. He longed to slide his hands up into her shirt, but that desire was matched by the need to make her laugh. He couldn't escape it, the constant dual ache in his heart and his groin, needing her body and her mind equally.

So he resolved to let her go. He knew he could never be her friend; it was stupid to have thought he could. He would never want her friendship without wanting her in his bed, too. And he would never deserve the kind of friendship she gave. He knew deep inside of him that she was better off without his presence in her life. She had everything to offer, and he had nothing to give in return. Except his adoration and protection from afar.

On Saturday when they met in Hogsmeade, he would deny her offer of friendship. He would say that he thought it inappropriate to have such relationships with a silly child, and that she was better off with her idiot companions, Potter and Weasley. He hoped he could make himself sound cold, and he hoped she would hate him: it would be easier that way.

Saturday dawned bright and clear, but Severus' mood was still foul as he dressed in a black sweater and jeans and ascended to the Great Hall. The prospect of losing Hermione combined with the job of herding a group of rowdy Slytherins made the recipe for a horrible day. Shuffling the rambunctious sixth years into a semblance of an order, Severus overheard one tell another,

"Yeah, David heard they do it all the time, in the Head Girl room." Severus froze, listening. "McGonagall doesn't care if they follow rules, the Golden Boy and his posse."

The other boy frowned. "So what, Weasley just stops by for a quick shag and then leaves?"

"Guess so. At least, I've never seen him 'round the castle. Suppose he pops in, fucks his girl, then goes home to his mum's cooking!" The boys burst into laughter, and Severus, though disturbed by the information, thoroughly enjoyed this characterization Hermione's boyfriend.

The second boy let out a low whistle. "Lucky guy, Weasley. What I wouldn't give to get my hands on those tits..."

Snape appeared, smacking the sixth year's hands from the air where they hung, cupping the imaginary breasts.

"Gentlemen, please continue this _enlightening _conversation on the path to Hogsmeade," he ordered, pointing to the door. Flustered and blushing, the boys hurried away.

Severus sighed, shaking his head to clear it. No, he had to stay strong, think about Hermione's future, not her breasts...

But then she was there, bounding down the stairs, smiling beautifully, calling after one of her charges. Her hair was tied back loosely, her jacket open over a curvy waist and long, graceful legs. She stopped in the middle of the staircase, hand on her hip, eyes searching the crowd of students below. He couldn't bring himself to look away, and when her eyes met his, she lit like a firecracker, waving in greeting, grinning as if she was about to burst into laughter. She fought upstream against the students headed for Hogsmeade, still beaming as she made her way to him. She stumbled slightly before him, catching his elbows with both of her hands, and looked up into his face.

And he forgot everything.

He couldn't remember what he was supposed to tell her, nor that he was supposed to tell her anything at all. He forgot the tattoo on his left forearm and the scar on his neck and all the invisible ones too. He forgot his aging body and her vibrant youth and even how much he wanted to kiss her. All he could think as they stood there, surrounded by a sea of people, was that he wanted to stay right there, holding her by the arms and seeing her grin at him like that for as long as he lived.

But she pulled away, and they followed the stream of excited students out the front doors of the school, their arms carelessly touching as they walked, making it incredibly difficult for Severus to focus on what Hermione was saying. _Is she doing this intentionally? Can she tell how much she's affecting me? _He tried to focus on her words, but the details of what she was reading were far less interesting to Severus than the way her hair smelled, in such a close proximity, or the playful way she leaned her shoulder into him when she was trying to be funny. _Remember, this won't last long,_ he told himself, _you have to tell her soon; don't be too friendly. _

She talked and talked, giving him no opportunity to rebuke her attention; he found himself focused on her words, all but forgetting his intentions to end their new friendship.

Hermione closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun. "Merlin, such a beautiful day," she mused as they approached the Three Broomsticks. "What do you say we get our drinks to go and walk around the village a bit?"

Severus was not exactly one for enjoying the outdoors, but he was not one to say no to Hermione, either. He nodded his assent, and they picked up their paper cups—him, a plain black coffee, and her, a cup of Earl Gray with milk—and left the bustle of the pub behind in favor of the sunny October day.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Hermione said suddenly, "I won't be in Potions again on Monday. McGonagall has us speaking to the Defense classes."

Severus was silent. The prospect of a Monday without his one ally was less than appealing.

"Of course I'll do anything necessary to stay on track!" She exclaimed, mistaking his brooding silence for anger. "And if I need to do extra work or something, I will, Professor."

He considered her for a moment, her eagerness and excitement.

"Please, call me Severus." He said simply.

She looked nervous. "All right...Severus." she tried out the name. He liked how it sounded, coming from her mouth.

"I suppose I cannot argue with a request by the headmistress," he sighed. _But I don't know if I can handle not seeing you, when the thought of you propels me from one moment to the next. _

"Thanks," she smiled a little sadly. "If it means anything, I don't even really _want _to do it."

"What exactly are you doing?"

"Oh, talking about the war and all that." She looked at her feet, "how we survived."

"I see. Sounds... important."

"It's total rubbish!" She told him, growing red in the face, "we're supposed to talk about the spells and potions and charms we used to help us, but all I really want to tell them is how much it sucks, to lose someone you love, and how hard it is after-how hard it _still _is, every fucking day—and bloody _stupid _they are for fretting about essays and who's snogging who when people have _died_, and..."

She paused briefly, searching his face. But he was listening fully, and she continued."

"And what I want to ask them is, how do you _think _it feels, to look into the face of you boyfriend's mom, and not wonder _every bloody day_ if she wishes it was you who had died, instead of her own son? How do you deal with it all, when every fucking person on the street knows your name, and they all want an interview, want to ask you a million questions about the most horrible thing you ever went through?!" She was yelling now. "And what if—I want to ask them—what if you don't want to let your own parents remember you, for fear that they won't like what you've become? Because you're so fucked up from all the things you've seen?! Because you've _killed _someone, and you want there to be someone, somewhere, who _doesn't already know that!_"

Standing there in the street, staring at the beautiful girl with wild hair, all Severus could think was that he finally, truly felt sane.

"Hermione, I..." He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. "I-I know."

Then she was there, her arms locked around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest; he could feel her warmth through his sweater. His hands hung in the air for a moment, unsure, but then as though his body understood did what his mind could not process, he slowly wrapped them around her, one arm protectively around her shoulders, the other soothingly stroking her hair.

All his life, Severus had felt terribly misunderstood. As a very bright but odd little child, with parents more interested in their own affairs than in him, he had quickly learned that he mattered very little to most people. As a teenager, he had found that his peers were very different than him, though seemingly quite the same as one another. And so as an adult, Severus had come to terms with the idea that he would be perpetually alone. Whether a factor of his oddness or the cruelness of others, it no longer mattered. If they could not or would not, people just did not understand.

And yet somehow, the young witch whom he now held in his arms, barely a woman but wise beyond her years, had managed to once again speak aloud the mess of thoughts he himself hid inside. He _did _know, just as he told her.

After a moment, Hermione stepped back, brushing the hair off her face. He was sad to let her go, but she smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Pro—Severus. Now, what do you say we head over to the bookshop?" she asked, hooking her arm through his, which Severus liked very much. "They should have Montague's new book by now. I'm curious about the revisions to the sleeping drought..."

They walked in companionable silence for a time, arms looped, each supporting the other in more ways than one. Severus considered how he had felt when he'd seen Hermione the first night of the term, just over a month ago: how wrong he had been. She hadn't moved on, as he'd thought, but remained just as affected as himself. Of course, he would never wish pain on Hermione, but her openness with him, her fragility, made him feel stronger. Somehow, her weakness made his own seem far less important, and it was a good feeling.

"'Mione! What in bloody hell!" An angry voice came from behind them.

Hermione spun around and out of Severus's grip. "Ron!" She exclaimed. She glanced at her watch, then covered her eyes with her hands. "Ron, oh my God. I'm so sorry, I..."

Her furious boyfriend was upon them now, his face the same color as his hair. "We were supposed to meet at noon!" He bellowed at her, and Severus noticed her wince. "Where in Merlin's name were you? It's after one... I've been looking everywhere for you!" Ron didn't even acknowledge his old professor's presence.

"Ron, I'm so, _so_ sorry." Hermione pleaded. "Severus and I got to talking, and I just lost track..."

"_Severus?_" Ron asked, his voice quiet but hate-filled as he narrowed his eyes at the other man.

"Um, yes. Professor Snape." Hermione squeaked out.

"How do you do." Severus said coolly, doing his best to keep the increasing desire to hex the ginger boy at bay.

Ron stared at Severus for a moment, his eyes suspicious, before wrapping Hermione up in his arms, pulling her against him.

"It's okay, 'Mione, I was just scared something happened to you." As Ron spoke, he stared at Severus pointedly. "I just love you so much."

Severus felt a stabbing in his chest. _Perhaps Weasley's not as dim as I thought, _he mused. _He seems to have noted my affections for Hermione. _

Severus did his best to look disinterested, waving his hand carelessly. "Yes, well, Miss Granger and I were simply discussing Montague's newest potions volume. If the young couple has plans, far be it for me to keep you." Severus didn't want to risk causing Hermione more trouble with her boyfriend. Without a word, Ron took Hermione by the arm, pulling her away. Hermione turned over her shoulder, mouthing a silent "sorry" to Severus.

He smiled at her reassuringly, but she had already turned back around, walking away hand-in-hand with her boyfriend, leaving him standing alone in the street.

That evening, as he read in his chair, Severus heard a knock on his chamber door. He didn't bother to answer. _Bloody teachers can wait until Monday to talk to me. _

It came again. Severus sat motionless, trying to be silent. _Go. Away. _

The knock came a third time. "Severus?" A small voice called from outside the door, "Severus, it's me. Please open up." _It can't be..._

But it was. Hermione stood in the doorway to his rooms, looking quite beautiful in the light cast from the fire. For a moment he just stared at her, not quite sure he believed she was really there.

"Hello," he said finally.

"Hi."

"Can I... help you?" _Why in Merlin's name are you standing in my doorway at eleven in the evening on a Saturday night, wearing a t-shirt that appears to have been made for a small child? _

She smiled meekly at him. "Can I come in?"

He wanted to say no, he really did. Or at least he knew he should. This was dangerous. But instead, he nodded.

Severus was suddenly very aware of his humble quarters and what Hermione might think of them. His dungeon rooms were poorly lit, with cold stone floors and no windows. The furniture was ramshackle at best, the unmade bed visible through the open bedroom door. Worst was the mess; books, parchment and quills littered every surface along with an abundance of half-empty mugs of coffee.

Hermione plopped down on the sofa as though she'd been there a hundred times and relaxed into the worn patchwork quilt that covered the back. Severus stared. She looked so... at home. He relished the thought. Could she be comfortable here? He imagined her curled up on this sofa, covered by the quilt, drinking at hot mug of tea as she devoured a book. His heart leapt.

He sat next to her, cautiously putting a bit of distance between them, and looked at her expectantly.

She stared at her hands. "I just came to say how sorry I am for today," she said to her lap, "and I hope you can forgive me."

He frowned at her. "Forgive you?" _It's bloody Weasley who needs to be apologizing, and to _her.

She smiled weakly. "Yes, I'm so sorry about what happened. I shouldn't have let Ron act that way. It's just that sometimes..." She trailed off.

"Sometimes what?" he asked. She shook her head. Boldly, he reached for her hand and held it between his own.

The gesture seemed to encourage her, and she lifted one knee onto the sofa, facing him while he held her hands.

"Sometimes," she continued, "Ron needs me to be weak, so that he can be strong."

Severus faltered at her words; if she could see this in her boyfriend, could she see it in him, too?

"Ron, he's not doing well," she confessed. "He has nightmares. He is angry a lot. I know it's hard, and I'm trying to be supportive, but sometimes..." she stopped again. Severus squeezed her hands encouragingly. "Sometimes, I feel inadequate. Like I can't be everything he needs me to be."

Severus nodded, but he wanted to pull her to him. _Can't you see, Hermione? You are everything I need and want and so, so much more. _

"He needs me to be strong for him, a lot of the time," she continued. "And he—I think to compensate for that—he gets really protective, like he's going to shield me from... from I don't know what."

"And you let him."

"And I let him." She looked to her lap again. "I know it's as bad as lying, but I-I care for him." Severus noted that she didn't say _love._

"And what about you?" He asked.

"What about me?"

"Do you _feel _strong?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "No," she said finally, "but I don't feel weak either. I just feel sad. And angry, sometimes." She looked up at him. "With you."

"With me? You feel angry with me?"

She laughed. "No, not angry _with _you," she clarified, shaking her head furiously. "I just feel—when I am with you—that I can _be _angry, or sad, or confused or whatever, and you don't think I'm weak. I'm still just _me_."

His chest swelled with pride. But before he could speak, she shook her head again.

"Ron, he cares for me, I know he does. I just don't know if he _loves _me." She was moving her hands in his, rubbing his palms and tickling his wrists with her fingertips, which Severus found very distracting. _Gods, it feels so good when she touches me. _

"And you—you don't love him?" He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know.

Hermione ran her palms up the inside of his forearms. She looked as though she was about to answer, but stopped short, staring at the path her hands had made. Her right hand just grazed the edge of the faded gray tattoo.

Severus froze. _So this is how it will end. She sees the mark and runs screaming from my presence—who could blame her. Bloody thing ruins my life yet again. _He watched carefully for her reaction, but she just looked at it quizzically. Slowly, she inched the sleeve of his sweater further up his arm. He didn't move; twenty years of reflexively pulling down his sleeves were at the mercy of her touch. With warm fingers she traced the skull and snake, the dull gray lines that once ruled his life.

Severus jerked his arm away suddenly, leaping from his seat and pushing down his sleeves hastily. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but realized it was still tied back off his face from earlier that evening. _Great, she can probably see the snake's scar, too, _he thought. _Way to go, Snape, exposing all of your fucked-up self at once this evening. _

"I'm sorry!" She exclaimed, reaching for him. He wanted to go to her, bury his face in her neck, but he couldn't. "I'm so sorry, Severus, I shouldn't have."

He watched her, so distraught, so fearful of hurting him. He stood perfectly still as she rose to meet him, taking his hand in hers again.

"Wait," he eyed her warily, "you're not... I mean, you're not afraid?"

"Of your mark?" she shook her head. "No."

"Not of the mark—of _me._"

She laughed. _What is she laughing at? _"Of you?!" She looked incredulous. "Why would I be afraid of _you_?!"

"Hermione, the mark—it's..."

"A scar." She interrupted. "I have one too, see?" She pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan to expose her own right forearm.

In the dim light of his sitting room, Severus could clearly see the large, garish letters that marred Hermione's pale arm from wrist to elbow:

"MUDBLOOD."

He touched the scarred pink flesh. "Who did this to you?" He whispered.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," she announced confidently. "In April. Now look," She pushed up his sleeve again, setting their two arms side-by-side in the firelight. "Two arms, two scars from the war. That's all." She sounded so firm, so sure, that Severus did not dare to challenge her. Instead, he reached for her hand and squeezed, the only kind of acknowledgement he could manage.

"I've got to get to bed," Hermione told him, moving toward the door. Feeling bold, Severus led her there with his hand on the small of her back.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" She turned around, very close, and looked up into his face. _Just do it._

"Would you... would you like to come by... maybe for coffee... on Monday evening?" His chest was tight and anxious; he wasn't used to putting himself out there.

Hermione squeezed his elbow. "Oh, Severus, I would love to, but Ron and Harry will be in the castle next week, remember? For speaking to defense classes? So maybe another night soon, hmm?" He nodded weakly. "And you look nice like that, with your hair off your face."

And with that she disappeared into the dark corridor, leaving Severus staring after her, alone and rejected for the second time that day.


	7. Chapter 6: Not Him

_Author's Note: Hi, friends. I want to start by apologizing for taking so long with this chapter. My goal is really to update much more frequently than once a month, but... well, this chapter was difficult for me to write, and I think that, once you read it, you'll understand why. As usual, your reviews and follows are much appreciated. And now: on with the show!_

Part Two: Together

Chapter 6: Not Him

"_Nothing unusual, nothing strange, just a little older, that's all. _

_You know when you've found it, there's something I've learned. _

'_Cause you feel it when they take it away." _

_-Damien Rice, "Amie"_

The dark halls were lonely at night without Hermione's friendly chatter to keep him company. Severus patrolled alone, hardly focused on the work of finding troublemakers. Instead, he sulked. He had hardly seen Hermione in weeks; when he did see her, she was on the arm of the boorish Weasley boy, who dragged her around the castle like a prize horse, always looking obnoxiously smug. Their public displays of affection grated on Severus' nerves; he told himself repeatedly that this was due to his general dislike of romantic displays, not his unresolved feelings for Hermione.

But they'd not met for tea, or extra potions-making on her afternoons off. She hadn't popped in to his classroom just to say hello between classes, and she certainly hadn't made another late-night visit to his rooms. And it was putting Severus into a very foul mood. He was angry and sullen again, and the students had noticed. He took fifty points from Ravenclaw when a fifth year girl kindly remarked that his poor mood sure seemed like heartbreak; _You silly girl, I do not have a heart to break. _

The constant chilly rains matched his mood. Severus knew that it was selfish of him to want all of Hermione's attention for himself. She was truly his only friend, but of course she had other friends, a boyfriend, other people who required her time. Yet he had developed intense possessive feelings for her and was sick at the sight of her on the arm of another, as if she belonged to him.

_She does belong to him. And she will never, ever belong to me._

He would never hold her hand in public, the way she did with Ron. He would never kiss her full lips, never run his hands along the soft skin of her stomach, never hear her breath catch when he nibbled her neck. He'd never take her out to a nice restaurant and then home to his bed. He'd never learn how to touch her to make her moan, never know how she slept or hold her in the night.

But he _would _be her friend, and that thought contented him. He would meet her for coffee in Hogsmeade and discuss the books they'd read. He'd show her all the potions he had created and hear her theories on magical history. He would read side-by-side with her on the couch, neither speaking for hours, just enjoying their quiet companionship. Yes, their friendship would be enough for him. Of course he could live without her body when it was her mind he coveted most.

But could he still be content with friendship when she belonged to another? _No. Especially not that insufferable Weasley. _What if they married? _I would die. _If she wouldn't be with him, then he did not want her to be with anyone else, either. _But she deserves so much happiness._ But he couldn't, he wouldn't, let her be with that man, who showed her off like a trophy, who used her as a security blanket against his own pain while she dealt silently with her own.

A noise in the dark corridor ahead pulled Severus out of his thoughts. Having not bothered to light his wand, he was almost upon them before he knew it.

In a small alcove, Ron Weasley had Hermione pressed against the wall, his hands up her top and his face in her neck. Severus pressed his back against the adjacent wall to listen, relying on the soft hiss of the rain to cover the sound of his haggard breath.

"Oh, 'Mione," Ron moaned. "Merlin, I've missed you." He was breathing heavily as he ground himself against her, and Severus' stomach churned.

"I've missed you too, Ron," she answered. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Severus did not think she sounded nearly as aroused as her partner.

"Your skin's so soft," he moaned, "Oh 'Mione..."

Severus felt ill, but he could not make himself move away. _I'm a glutton for punishment, I suppose. _

There was a rustling of clothing. "Ron!" Hermione whispered furiously. "Ron, please. Not here."

"You're right," he answered, not taking care to be quiet. "Let's go up to your rooms..."

"Ron!" Severus clinched his fists, resisting the impulse to interrupt whatever it was the boy was doing that Hermione did not approve.

"What? You want privacy..."

"Ron, I don't want..."

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione! Everyone thinks we're doing it anyway!" Severus cringed in the dark. So the rumors weren't true after all.

"I don't care, I'm not having sex with you _here._"

"Like I said, we'll go up to your rooms..."

"Ronald!"

The boy stopped talking immediately, and the dark hall was quiet.

"Ron, please." Hermione whispered after a time. "I'm sorry, I just... I don't... I'm not ready."

Ron whispered something back, but Severus didn't hear him, for he had already taken off silently down the hall. _Holy fuck,_ he thought as he retreated to the dungeons in an effort to avoid hexing the boy into oblivion. _Thank Merlin she didn't let him... _he couldn't bear to finish the thought; he couldn't stand to think of her with him, not like that. It hurt him enough just seeing them laughing together, their arms intertwined.

In the dark of the dungeon hall, Severus came to a halt, hands on his knees, heaving emptily. How could she make him feel this way? How had he become so sick, so possessive of her? Not since he was a student here, and Lily...

_No, it is impossible. _Certainly he'd grown to care for Hermione very much, but other than that one, terrifying dream, he had kept her separate from

Lily. Lily, so kind and intuitive, so beautiful, he had loved his whole life. But Hermione, with her intense loyalty and brazen honesty... how did she fit in?

Stumbling back to his rooms in the dark, Severus realized that he just didn't know anymore.

Saturday was Gryffindor versus Slytherin in Quidditch and the first day of sun in two weeks. The castle was empty and quiet, and Severus was sipping his coffee at his desk and working his way through a stack of third-year essays when he heard an urgent rapping on the classroom door. Before he could answer, Hermione was in and slamming the door behind her, pressing her back against it as if she was being pursued.

She smiled her big, warm smile at him. "G'morning, Severus."

He didn't reply, just raised an eyebrow. And tried to suppress the smile on his lips.

"Can I hide here?" She asked, her voice pleading. "Just until the end of the match?"

"Of course." He grimaced at his own eagerness and forced himself to resume his grading, trying to look indifferent.

"Thanks." She crossed to his desk and perched on it just next to his hand. Now he really couldn't focus, with her leaning so close...

"I've never really liked Quidditch," she said.

"I can relate." He set down his quill. There was no way he was going to finish now.

"Ron and Harry and Ginny... they _love _it." She appeared to be talking to her thighs.

"Oh? And aren't you eager to spend time with your _lover?_" Severus immediately regretted his sarcastic tone.

"Oh gods, no."

Severus looked up sharply. "What?" Was it possible that Hermione was no longer so besotted with Weasley? His heart leapt.

Hermione stared at her legs again. "Ron's fine, but _me_ on the other hand..." she trailed off.

Severus stared. "You? What's wrong with you?" _Nothing is wrong with you; you're absolutely perfect. _

"I don't know, Severus." He could hear in her voice that she held back tears, and he hesitantly reached for her hand. She held it tight in hers on her leg.

He was sure this was about what he heard in the hallway. Weasley was pressuring her to sleep with him, the bastard, and Hermione didn't want to. _Oh, Hermione, please don't sleep with that arse. Someone who truly cares about you will respect your wishes... Like me. _

Severus may have been caught up in his fantasy or maybe just feeling brave, but he certainly didn't think about what he did next. He stood from his chair, took Hermione by the shoulders, looked her straight in the eye, and whispered:

"Hermione, you do not have to do anything you're not ready for. Any man that is worthy of your affections will care for you enough to wait, I assure you. Please, just know that."

Her eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed.

"How did _you_ know anything about that?" She whispered, her voice like venom. Severus straitened, suddenly realizing he'd given himself away.

" I just... I thought it seemed as though..." He tried to lie, but couldn't.

"Were you _spying _on me?" She asked slowly.

"No! I mean, I was doing rounds, and I heard... I just, accidentally..."

Hermione wrenched herself from his grip and slid off the desk, putting some distance between them. "I can't believe you! Listening in on a private conversation..."

"I'm sorry." His words sounded like a plea. "I'm so sorry Hermione, It was an accident and... I was just worried about you."

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "Oh, gods, this is so _embarrassing_! I can't believe you heard that... _you _of all people..."

"What do you mean, _me_ of all people?"

"...And so _patronizing!" _she continued, ignoring him. "_'Hermione, don't do it if you're not ready!_'" she mocked. "'_Hermione, find a man who will respect you!'"_

"Please, Hermione," Severus begged, "I've said I'm sorry."

But Hermione wasn't listening.

"I don't need _you_ to tell me that my relationship has problems!" She yelled. "I know, okay? I get it. I know there are things we need to talk about... but Ron is _good_ to me. And kind, and _he_ isn't afraid to show his feelings..."

_Not like me. _

"...And whatever you heard, it was just a minute, and now things are fine, okay? And Merlin_, _can we please _never _talk about my sex life again?!" She was red in the face, her wild hair turning her into a menacing Gryffindor lion worthy of her house. She sighed and buttoned her jacket. "I'm going out to the Quidditch pitch," she said. "I'll see you later."

For months afterward, Severus would regret what happened next. He would play this moment again and again in his mind, wishing that he had simply apologized a final time and let her go.

Instead, he yelled after her.

"Hermione, wait! You can't go." She turned on her heel, facing him with a furious stare.

"And why not, might I ask?" She crossed her arms in front of her and stood rigid, waiting for the answer he didn't really have.

_Because you should be with me instead of Ron. Because you don't love him. Because I need you. _

"Because you don't like Quidditch."

She let out a disdainful laugh.

"Not as much as I don't like you right now," she spat, turning to leave.

Severus only knew that he had to think fast, had to get her to stay, though she wanted so badly to leave.

"Please Hermione, let me make you some tea." He said softly.

She was still headed for the door.

"Come back, please, and let's talk..." His voice was increasingly urgent.

Her hand was on the knob.

"Hermione!" He called after her, panicked. "Please! Stop!"

She turned again, halfway out the door. "Why?!" She yelled back, insistent. "Why should I stop?!"

"Because you shouldn't be with him!"

"That is not your place to say, Severus!" She shouted. "But please, enlighten me: why shouldn't I be with Ron?"

"BECAUSE HE DOESN'T DESERVE YOU!" He bellowed.

The room was quiet for a moment, Hermione starting at him with narrowed eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and full of contempt.

"Who _does _deserve me, Severus?"

She knew.

It was a challenge, he was sure. She was daring him to say that _he _did, to reveal his feelings. She knew how he felt. How long had she known? Did she have feelings for him, too? Did he dare take this chance?

Alas, it was a trick question. He could have honestly answered himself to a number of other questions, but could he say he _deserved _her? Never. And so he lowered his gaze and his voice, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Hermione. But not him."

Hermione's eyes were full of tears when he worked up the courage to look at her again. Did she look disappointed in his answer? No, she looked angry with him, just as she had before. He took a few tentative steps in her direction, eager to be closer to her, to patch things up between them.

"Hermione, please," he begged, though for what, he was unsure.

He moved more quickly toward her now, and let his body take over, his brain—his conscience—shutting down.

She looked scared. "Severus, I..."

Two more long strides and he was there, her body pressed against his, his hands knotted in her hair... and her lips pressed against his. He wrapped his free hand round her small waist, lifting her slightly off the ground. He moved his mouth against hers, parting her lips...

And she was kissing him back.

For a brief moment, they were locked together and he was lost... it was a dream... she was warm and sweet and soft, and they places where their bare skin touched felt pleasantly tingly with electricity.

It was a moment before Severus realized that the hands on his chest were not grabbing to pull him closer, but resisting, pushing them apart. _No, I don't want to let go..._

"No," she said against his mouth. And a tremendous shock pushed them apart, a pale purple current of sparks shooting from Hermione's hands and into his chest.

He fell back against a desk, rubbing his chest where the strange magic had touched him. Their eyes met, and he noticed that the tears in hers were finally streaming down her cheeks.

"No," she repeated, "No, no no no!" But she held his gaze. Her hands hung in the air as if she wasn't sure they were done doing damage.

"Hermione," he reached to her, but she took as step back.

"No," she repeated, shaking her head.

"Hermione," he repeated, "Please, don't say 'no.'"

She stared at him, tears falling steadily.

"No," she whispered. And slipped out the door.


	8. Chapter 7: Should You Need Me

_Author's Note: Consider this fair warning that this chapter does get a little graphic. If that offends you, please stop reading now. _

Part Three: Always There

Chapter 7: Should You Need Me

"Please don't stand so close to me; I'm having trouble breathing.

I'm afraid of what you'll see right now.

I give you everything I am, all my broken heartbeats, until I know you'll understand.

And I will make sure to keep my distance."

-Christina Perri, "Distance"

It was Thursday. Or at least Severus thought it was; he hadn't left his rooms in days.

_"No," she repeated, "No, no no no!" But she held his gaze. _

A knife in his gut since she'd gone, since he'd seen her cry because of him.

_"Hermione," he reached to her, but she took a step back._

_"No," she repeated, shaking her head._

What had he done? Everything was ruined; he'd lost the only real friend he'd ever had. And now he was holed up in his cave, hiding from the consequences.

_"Hermione," he repeated, "Please, don't say 'no.'"_

He had been so _desperate_, so entirely consumed with longing for her. He _needed_ her to know, to understand how he felt. But he'd never been good with words.

_She stared at him, tears falling steadily._

And then his heart broke. No, not broke: his chest burst open, and the deepest, most hidden version of himself splintered into a million tiny fragments.

_"No," she whispered. And slipped out the door._

He couldn't make sense of it. He'd been through the pensieve a hundred times or more, obsessively searching for a sign, something he'd missed, something that would have told him she didn't care for him the way he did for her.

_Hermione smiling at him from the top of the stairs; letting him hold her in her moment of weakness; holding his hand tight in hers as she confided in him about Ron. Hermione brushing against him in the potions closet, and Hermione pressed against him, his fingers tangled in her hair, gasping for breath as she kissed him. _

But none of that mattered anymore. Every moment Severus thought he had felt could be explained away with the premise of a growing friendship. And now he didn't even have that.

Severus took a long drink of firewhiskey. He had not, since that afternoon, left the safe confines of his quarters, not even to teach a class or have a meal. He was hiding, a bat from his light, like the coward he was. _Pathetic. _But how could he see her? What would he say? _Please come back to me? _And risk scaring her more?

Severus looked around his dark apartment. He knew he couldn't stay in here forever. McGonagall had already tried to send Poppy in to check on his feigned illness. He would eventually have to return to classes, or else leave Hogwarts all together. _That's not an option. I need to be where she is, even if she never looks at me again. _But it was sweet oblivion to stay drunk on firewhiskey and lack of sleep, and spend all his time drowned in his pensieve watching the sweetest memories he could call his own.

Severus was scared, beyond any fear he'd ever known, that these would be last good memories he'd have.

XXX

In a beautiful dream, Hermione was with him. She was smiling softly at him and her curls tickled his cheek as she knelt next to his bed. Her small hand curved around his cheek, her thumb gently caressing his face and setting off those familiar faint purple sparks.

Dream Hermione was sparkling, her eyes glittering with magic, her hair defying gravity and floating wildly around them, a soft chestnut cloud. And she had _wings..._

"Severus," she whispered, trying to wake him.

"No," he mumbled. He wasn't ready to let her go again. Reality pulled at him through the haze of alcohol and sleep, threatening to take her.

"Severus, it's me, please wake up."

"No!" He protested, trying to focus his mind on the dream. _Don't leave me again._

"Please, I need to talk to you."

Something felt wrong in this dream. It was too cold, and he could hear laughter somewhere far off. He cautiously opened one eye.

"Hi," she whispered. Her sparkly face was just inches from his, as it had been in his dream.

"What are you doing here?" He replied. He regretted how cold his voice sounded.

Hermione looked down. "I was worried about you," she said finally, as though reluctant to admit it.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

She smiled, pulling at one a charmed, floating lock of hair. "Halloween. I'm a fairy."

"Oh, yes, I forgot." _Because I've been hiding here, avoiding this very conversation. I should have known she'd find me. _Severus noticed then that the glowing make-up covering her face was streaked, as though... "Were you crying? What's wrong?"

Hermione drug the back of her hand across her face, smearing the glitter even more. "Oh, no, I'm fine," she insisted. "Listen, you have to come back to class. Slughorn is nice, but I'm afraid he's starting to lose his marbles. Probably why he retired in the first place, I suppose..."

"Hermione." She looked up at him, expectant. "Hermione, please. I'm so sorry. I didn't..."

She put her hand on his face again, and he leaned into her touch, savoring. "Severus, listen. I think it's going to be better if you and I sort of... take a break for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I think we need to spend some time apart." He cringed and hope she couldn't see him in the dark. "I care about you, Severus, I really do."

"Hermione," he whispered. "I have to tell you something..."

"Severus, please."

"No, just listen. I don't know how to say... I mean, I'm sorry about..."

"Severus," she pleaded. He could tell she was crying again. "You have to stop. Please. I can't... you can't do this. Stop drinking, stop hiding, and come back to class."

"I'm not drinking," he lied.

"I can smell it on your breath."

The room was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of what Severus now realized to be Halloween partygoers yelling and laughing outside.

"Severus?" She whispered after a long silence.

"Hmm?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know what she had to say now. Every word from her mouth tonight had been another stab of pain.

"I need you to know, if you ever need someone... I'm here." She brushed the hair back from his forehead. "Even though I think some time apart would be good right now..." she trailed off. Severus tried to remain completely still, as if his movement would send her away. "You should know that you have a friend, and always will. Should you need me."

She stood to go, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on his temple before disappearing once again. His hair was wet from her tears, and when he heard the apartment door shut quietly behind her, he whispered into the dark: "I need you _now._"

But in the morning, as Severus prepared to return to class, he noticed that every bottle of firewhiskey in his kitchen was gone, and he felt the odd, jittery feeling he now knew to be hope.

XXX

November was, as Novembers often are, damp and dreary. Severus felt it complemented his outlook.

Unsure what time apart was supposed to accomplish, he tried to go on. He tried to teach his classes and prepare for exams. He tried to eat and sleep normally, and to avoid firewhisky. He tried to occupy his busy mind with new potions and other academic pursuits. In the evenings, he took long, meandering walks in the forest in an effort to clear his head.

But still, he pined for her. He detested himself, yearning for her like a heartsick fourth-year, always wondering where she was and what she was doing. When he saw her in class, though careful to avoid her gaze, he watched her closely. And at night he dreamed of her, all wild hair and purple sparks and soft, warm lips. As he lay in bed listening to the late autumn winds, he would close his eyes and imagine her there, curled against him between the sheets. It was a beautiful fantasy that only served to make him miss her more.

He was a masochist.

He watched his memories, over and over again. Re-living, feeling, seeing her face again, the look of horror after he kissed her. Watching himself holding her in the street in Hogsmeade, only to feel again the pain of her words: _spend some time apart. _It was the same sick game he'd played when Lily was killed: he lived without her until he couldn't anymore, then saw her again in his memories, only to lose her again. Only now it was Hermione, with her strong will and fierce courage and sharp mind; so much Lily wasn't and could never be for him. He tortured himself with these thoughts, of both of the women he'd needed this way.

The holidays approached, and Severus grew increasingly dour at the prospect of spending Christmas isolated in the bright quiet of Spinner's End. Somehow, since their friendship had begun, he had imagined he and Hermione sharing Christmas at Hogwarts, reading silently together for hours, walking in the snow. Nothing scared him more, now, than being here alone without her. He made himself sick with his stupid fantasies.

Holly was hung around the castle and the portraits sung carols, but Severus only thought of Hermione, about to spend three weeks at the Weasley's, undoubtedly shagging her boyfriend the entire time. Masochist as he was, Severus tried to imagine it in detail: their sweaty bodies heaving and grinding, the stupid oaf pawing at her, panting and moaning like Severus had heard in the corridor that night. Did their shagging (Severus refused to call it l_ovemaking_) satisfy Hermione? Could Weasley do for her what Severus imagined he himself could? When Ron kissed her, did Hermione think of _him_? Had she told Ron?

When his sick imaginings were too much to stand, Severus stood and heaved into the kitchen sink. Firewhiskey burned even worse coming back up. _This is out of control. Get yourself together. _

Alone and quite drunk on Christmas Eve, Severus climbed into his creaky old bed in the house he'd never called home and closed his eyes. On the back of his eyelids he saw, in perfect detail, the vision of Hermione wearing that tiny t-shirt, reaching to stretch above her head, as she had that day in the library.

_She pulled it off over her head and reached behind her to unclasp her bra, letting her incredible breasts free. Leaving her jeans on the floor, she climbed onto the bed, crawling over Severus before coming to sit, straddling his hips. She moaned quietly as she moved against his hardness and he gasped. _

Severus released his stiffening cock and gave it a long, slow pull. He sighed.

_Hermione pressed her mouth against his fiercely, devouring him. He cupped her breasts, squeezing and rolling the nipples between his fingers. She gasped and arched her back in pleasure, grinding herself against him. "Oh, Severus..." _

He stroked himself slowly, lost in his fantasy.

_She left a trail of kisses and gentle bites from his ear to his belly, his cock rubbing against her breasts as she knelt over him. She took it in her hand, running her thumb over the sensitive head, and Severus' hips bucked into her touch. _

His own hands performed as Hermione's in the fantasy, stroking and teasing his aching member.

_She took the tip of him in her mouth, sucking lightly, and he cried out, relishing the feel of her lips around him. She sucked harder, taking him all the way in, until he wasn't sure he could take it any more. He begged her to stop, to slow down, but she wouldn't listen. She bobbed faster, and he felt he was about to lose it... and when she reached between them and cupped his balls, squeezing gently, he did. _

Severus' free hand held his balls and he came, gasping her name as he did.

It was a sweet, sweet moment, but as the glow of orgasm faded and she wasn't really there, he felt suddenly more alone than ever.


	9. Chapter 8: I Never Knew Why

Chapter 8: I Never Knew Why

"_Still a little bit of your ghost, your weakness._

_Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed._

_You step a little closer each day_

_So close that I can't see what's going on."_

_-Damien Rice, "Cannonball"_

Most people would have wished for a white Christmas, but Severus was glad it wasn't cold enough for snow. The steady rain kept away the eerie quiet of Spinner's End.

Two days after Boxing Day, it was still pouring and Severus felt he was beginning to go mad, between the emptiness of the house and brooding on Hermione. He had developed an unhealthy pattern of falling asleep as the sun came up, sleeping into the afternoon, then undertaking the arduous task of organizing his personal stash of potion ingredients, often working well into the wee hours of the morning. Which is why he was still about around two when there was a knock at his front door.

He opened it to find Hermione herself, soaked through from the rain and looking quite sheepish on his stoop.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Can I come in?" She brushed the water from her forehead futilely.

He said nothing, just turned and retreated into the house.

He waited as she shed her soggy coat, as she took in the front room, and as she wrung her hands and stared past his head.

Finally, he couldn't take it any more. "Hermione, why did you come here?" he asked, his voice clipped. If she wanted him to move on, her being there was probably the last thing he needed at the moment.

Her eyes searched the room as though the answer was written on the walls. "I 've been looking for you," she answered finally.

He said nothing.

"I went to Hogwarts; you weren't there."

"Yes, I've been here." What could she want with him now? Why was she, once again, seeking him out in the middle of the night?

"I went to the Burrow for Christmas."

Oh. Severus suddenly understood. She had come her, once again, to vent her frustrations about Weasley. Her sounding board, her comfort, her friend... but nothing else.

"I told Ron I didn't want to be with him anymore."

"Oh?" Severus wished he hadn't sounded so eager.

"It was horrible." She collapsed onto a mismatched footstool, burying her face in her hands. "He didn't take it well at all. He kept asking why, what happened... and I couldn't really tell him." She rubbed her face behind the curtain of tangled hair. "I apparated out of there before anyone else found out. Oh gods, what is Ginny going to say..."

There was a part of Severus, the part that would ache in his heart if he had one, that pushed him to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and urge her on, to listen to her as he always had. But for perhaps the first time since their friendship had begun, Severus' brain won that fight.

"Hermione, stop." She looked up at him, startled. "You should not have come here. That was a mistake." His voice betrayed his fury. "For some reason, you have made quite the habit of coming to me at the most inappropriate hours to whine to me about your relationship. He was yelling now, and she cowered below him on her seat. "Quite frankly, I do not care to listen any longer. Have you once considered _my _thoughts or emotions? You want my friendship when it suits you, then you tell me we need time apart. What do you _want _Hermione?!"

She looked as though she was about to cry, and he softened.

"I care for you so deeply, Hermione, and it hurts me to see you upset. But I cannot stand here and listen to you speak of him without wishing..." he took a deep breath, "without wishing that I was in his place."

Hermione was still perched on the footstool, elbows resting on her knees. She hid her face in her hands again, but this time, she let out a choked laugh.

"Severus," she said, her hands over her eyes, "Ron and I-we want to be a couple."

That stung.

"But," she continued before he could respond, "we both knew it wasn't working. It could never work. And until tonight-before I went to Hogwarts looking for you, before I came here-I never knew why."

Severus stood frozen above her, watching the top of her damp head for any sign that she was about to say what he hoped she would.

"Severus," she looked at him through her lashes. "I came here tonight because I wanted to tell you: Ron and I can't be together because _I want to be with someone else._"

He didn't move, but his heart raced.

"_You." _she half-laughed. "I can't be with him because of _you._"

Severus had imagined this moment a thousand times, but now that it was happening, he couldn't move or think or speak. He just stared at her, so beautiful behind her tangled hair, and tried to convince himself it was real.

"Severus," she breathed, and he fell to his knees before her, so their faces were aligned.

"Hermione." He brushed the hair from her face. He wanted to kiss her. _Oh, did he want to kiss her. _But he didn't know if he should.

She wrapped her hands around his neck and rested her forehead against his. _So close. _Their lips were just millimeters apart.

"I'm scared," she whispered against his mouth.

"Me, too."

"All I know is that I want to be yours," she breathed, eyes closed. "And that I want you to be mine."

Severus took her face in his hands and lifted it so she looked into his eyes.

"Hermione," he told her her, "I have been yours all this time." And he kissed her.

She was shy at first, her body curled away from him. But soon she was kissing him too, her hands moving on his back, pulling him closer. His fingers found their way under the back of her shirt, and she sighed into his mouth when their skin touched there.

She broke the kiss and Severus kissed her neck, burying his face there as he'd always wanted to. He breathed in the smell of her, sweet and warm, like vanilla. She rested her cheek on his head.

"I've never seen you smile that way before," she mused, her fingers gently stroking the back of his neck under his hair.

"I don't usually smile."

"But you are now."

"I don't _usually_ have you," he replied, wrapping his arms around her more tightly.

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, basking in their newly revealed feelings for one another. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"I have to get back."

"Uh-uh," he said into her neck, muffled.

"Unfortunately, yes, I have to go face the repercussions of my choice. Not that it was a _bad _choice," she added, smiling

"Don't leave." He held on tighter, as if he could make her stay by pure force.

"Severus, the Weasleys and Harry-they'll worry."

"Don't make me beg." He kissed her again, more urgently now.

"Sev-" she pushed him away. He did not like that feeling .

"Please, Hermione." He _was _begging now. "Don't go. You can stay here tonight. You can sleep in my bed-I'll take the couch." He took her hands in his. "You don't have to go back there, Weasley can tell them why you're gone."

What would happen if she left, he wondered? Would she ever come back? When they were apart, even for a moment, would she decide she no longer wanted this? Severus was scared-terrified-that she would return to the Burrow, see Ron, and decided to patch things up. And he would be right back where he started.

She stood. "I _do _have to go back. I need to explain things to them, even if it'll be difficult. I owe them that."

Severus was motionless as he watched her cast a drying charm on her coat and put it on. He searched his mind for something-anything-he could say to make her reconsider. He was sure if she left, the dream-like events of tonight would never happen again.

As if she read his mind, Hermione came to him, putting her hand on his cheek.

"Severus," she told him, "I will see you at school in three days."

He took her hand, leaning into her touch. "I'm scared to let you leave," he admitted, "I'm afraid you won't come back to me."

She stood on her tip-toes to kiss him full on the mouth. He grasped her around the waist and kissed her desperately. _Please, let her come back_.

When she pulled away, she was smiling. "You'll have to trust me. See you on Friday."

She turned on the spot, and with a _pop! _she was gone.


	10. Chapter 9: I Want You to Mean It

Chapter 9: I Want You to Mean It

"_I surrender who've I've been for who you are,_

_Nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart,_

_If I had only felt what it feels to be yours, _

_Well I would have know what I've been living for all along._

_What I've been living for." _

_-Sleeping at Last, "Turning Page" _

Severus tapped his hands nervously on the arm of his chair. _Is she coming? _

All day he had been folding and unfolding the note, and now it was falling apart between his twitching fingers. No matter: he knew its contents by heart:

_Severus, _

_I am coming in tonight on the train. I should be in the castle by eight o' clock. _

_Please be prepared to kiss me upon my arrival. _

_Yours, _

_Hermione _

He was prepared, all right. But the afternoon crawled, and Severus wasn't sure what to do with himself, his mind preoccupied with Hermione. He mindlessly tidied his quarters, which really involved straightening towers of books and putting the empty mugs in the sink. Then he tried to read, but he kept coming across snippets and sections he wanted to mark for Hermione, and that grew distracting, until eventually he put the book down. He took a walk on the grounds, the late December day being quite unusually sunny, but he was nervous he'd miss her, although it was nowhere near eight. When he found himself marking the Brown boy's essay satisfactory, he decided distractions were hopeless, and sat down to wait.

Now it was nearly quarter-after eight, and there was no sign of Hermione. His mind reeled with possibilities: she had changed her mind, decided she no longer wanted him. Or something worse had happened to her... but Severus wouldn't let himself think about that. She was a bright, talented witch. She could surely handle whatever danger came her way. After all, she'd all but defeated the Dark Lord for Potter.

But by the time the clock struck eight-thirty, all rational thought was gone and Severus was prepared to set out to look for her. He knew there were still Death Eaters on the run-only a few, but what if one of them had found her? She was famous, a target for evil. He was furious at the thought. _No, I will not let anything happen to her. _

He was fastening his cloak when Hermione burst through the door, flinging herself at him.

"Oof," he said as she threw her arms around his neck.

"Gods, Severus, I'm so sorry I'm late. I ran into Slughorn in Hogsmeade... that man can not stop talking, once he's started! I'm sorry I kept..." she didn't finish her sentence before kissing him hard.

He wound his hands around her, thankful for her presence but cursing Slughorn for making him wait. But she was here, finally, and safe. Here, and kept from him by several extra layers of clothing...

"Mmm... wait a second," he said, pulling away from her. He removed his cloak and her coat, and she threw her striped Gryffindor scarf over the back of a chair.

"You can't wear that here," he joked and she giggled, pretending to hide it under her discarded coat. "You'd look better in green." She scowled playfully at him, but let him lead her to the sofa.

He sat, pulling her down onto his lap. He surprised himself with his forwardness. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear.

"I was afraid you weren't coming," he confessed.

She looked confused. "But I told you..."

"I thought maybe you'd changed your mind. I wouldn't have blamed you."

She considered him for a moment. "Severus, I..."

"I just want to be sure that this is what you want."

"But I do, I..."

"I'm not a good person, Hermione. I've done a lot of terrible things, and I'm old."

"You're not _old..." _

"A lot older than you. But I can't help myself; I want you. But if you don't..."

"Severus!"

Hermione climbed off his lap, and then back on so she was sitting on his knees, a leg on either side of his hips. Severus struggled to steady his breathing: she was _straddling_ him, and she looked incredibly sexy.

"Stop interrupting me," she ordered. "You forget that I know a lot more about you than most people. And yet here I am." She sighed. "Don't try to convince me to leave, Severus. I've made up my mind." She kissed him gently, snaking her hands up the hem of his shirt.

He clasped his hands over hers, stilling them. As nice as her touch felt, he wasn't ready to reveal the ugly, gnarled scars that covered his chest and back.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking her hands back.

"No, it's not you." He didn't want her to think she'd done something wrong. "I'm not ready for you to see that particular damage just yet."

She nodded. "Well, how about this, then?" She took his hands in hers and lay them on the skin of her waist, underneath her sweater.

"I like that very much."

"Good, me too. Now, what I said about being prepared to kiss me: five seconds in the entry doesn't count..."

"I missed you," he said after a while. Her cheeks and lips were flushed from kissing, and he didn't think he'd ever seen such an arousing sight.

"I missed you too," she said, "longest three days _ever_."

"No," he shook his head."Although I missed you then, too. I meant that I missed you when we weren't speaking. After..." he wasn't sure if he should bring this up again. "After I kissed you, when you didn't want me to."

"Oh, I wanted you to. I just didn't think we should."

"Because of Weasley?"

"Yes."

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"I don't like that."

She frowned at him. "Severus," she chided, "he's my friend. We've been through a lot together, he and Harry and I. I owe it to him to be considerate of his feelings."

Severus twisted suddenly, pinning Hermione to the couch beneath him. "I am insanely jealous of him," he growled in her ear.

"What for? _You_ have me now."

"He had you longer," he mumbled into her neck.

"Severus," she took his face in hands, "Ron and I were together seven months, and he _never_ had me the way you do."

She kissed him then, but it was different now; they were making up for lost time. She grabbed at his clothes, pulling him down, and he pressed himself against her. His hand found her breast under her shirt, and he caressed it gently; when she made no sign of objection, he cupped her over her bra and squeezed. She gasped and clutched him tighter, parting her knees so that he was nestled between them, his hardness pressed between her thighs. She arched her back, grinding herself against him.

"Oohh... Hermione, wait. He tried to sit up, but she held onto him.

"No."

"Yes, we shouldn't." It took all his will to sit back on his heels.

"Why not? She pouted up at him, her lips and legs parted, her sweater riding up over her flat stomach. He kneeled and kissed it, dotting chaste kisses across the exposed skin.

"It scares me, how badly I want you," he said finally.

"You don't have to _want _me," she whispered, pulling the front his shirt to bring him closer. "You _have _me."

"_Hermione_," he groaned, detaching her hands from his clothing, against her will and his own.

"I'm not a child!" She protested, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

"I know," he soothed, caressing her skin. "I'm just scared of ruining this."

There was silence for a moment as she considered this.

He watched her think. _Bloody Hell_, he thought, _she's fucking sexy. _Her hair was splayed over a pillow, her cheeks flushed as she nibbled her bottom lip. _I want to bite that lip. _It would be so easy to follow her lead, tear off her sweater, bury his face between her breasts and let her grind against him... _because gods, that hat felt so good._ Maybe she'd unbutton his pants and stroke him, maybe let him remove her bra and roll her nipples between his fingers. Hell, maybe they'd even have sex. The thought of that that made Severus shudder with fear and his cock shudder with excitement.

But then what? Maybe she wanted that, and everything would be fine. But it seemed more likely that she'd be scared, that she'd regret it tomorrow and then everything-this perfect, perfect night-would be ruined. He remembered the whispered conversation he'd overheard in the corridor that night in October. She didn't even want to sleep with Weasley, her boyfriend of almost five months. He wouldn't let her make a decision she would regret.

"I wa-"

"Herm-"

They both spoke at once, then laughed.

"You, first," she said, sitting up across from him. The faced one another cross-legged on the sofa, their knees touching.

"Hermione," he began again, tucking a rogue curl behind her ear. "For as long as I am lucky enough to call you mine, I will live in terror of doing something to scare you away." He twirled her hair around his hands, alternately twisting and smoothing the long strands. "Eventually, I _will _do something. I will do or say or feel something, and you will leave. And that's alright, I mean, I know. But I'd like to put off that moment as long as possible."

She frowned at their hands clasped between them.

"What makes you so sure that I will leave?"

He took a deep breath. "Because I honestly cannot imagine anything you could do to make me send you away."

"No, you don't understand." She shook her head furiously. "What makes you sure this will end at all?"

As nice as it was to hear her say that, there remained no doubt in Severus' mind that their relationship was temporary. He'd keep her as long as he could, but that wouldn't be forever. No, she deserved a life with someone who could give her everything.

But if she wanted him as she claimed she did, which he still struggled to believe, he couldn't make her leave, could he? And if she stayed-_forever_- what happened then?

"Hermione," he rubbed his eyes, "I don't suppose I've given any thought to our future together. I assumed we wouldn't have one."

"But _why?_" She repeated. She turned and curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. "Severus, why do you still think I'm going to run away?"

He held her against his chest, stroking her hair.

"I cannot give you the life you deserve," he told her quietly. "A marriage, a family, a life free from death-threats and suspicion..."

"I don't care," she whispered into his neck.

"But don't you?" He asked her, "don't you want those things?"

"Of course I do!" She said angrily. "But I want them with _you_!"

Severus was silent. _Does she mean that? _His mind reeled. He knew this was it for him; _she _was it. When she was gone-and he knew it was _when- _there would be no one else. He would live the remainder of his life alone; weary as he was of loneliness, the idea of anyone else made him ill.

Hermione leapt suddenly from her seat looking horrified.

"Oh God, Oh God oh God..." She covered her face. "Oh God, Severus, I'm sorry! You must think me so _daft_. Here we've been together all of five seconds and I'm... Oh _God..." _

She reached for her coat, but he was there, pulling it from her hands.

"What are you talking about?" He towered over her angrily, his voice a low growl. "Where are you going?"

She would not meet his eyes.

"I'm being such a silly little girl!" She exclaimed. "Listen to me! Standing here, declaring I'd like to be together forever!" Her cheeks reddened from embarrassment. "Please," she begged, "please forget I said that."

He studied her pink face, her eyes still not meeting his. He cupped her face, tangling his hands in her hair. He couldn't think, but when he spoke, he knew it was the truth.

"I don't want to forget it," he whispered.

She looked up at him in shock. "You don't?"

"No, I don't. I want you to mean it."

"Oh, Severus!" She hugged him around the waist. "I do mean it!"

He kissed the top of her head.

"Me too, Hermione. Me too."

As they stood there in his small living room, holding one another in a halo of faint purple, it occurred to Severus that he couldn't remember, in all his life, being as happy as in that moment. And for the first time, he began to think maybe he could finally have a normal life: he could have Hermione, possibly forever, and in her someone to share his life with. He didn't dare let himself hope for a marriage, a family... but he trusted her implicitly, and she had said this wouldn't end.

And that was how Severus Snape once again found himself so full of hope, he felt as though he'd burst.


	11. Chapter 10: You Belong with Me

_Author's Note: So sorry for the delay, friends. Getting ready to finish school and get married and all that. I hope you enjoy this! I'm already working on Chapter 11 so that should be out much more quickly now. Love you all!_

Chapter 10: You Belong with Me

"_Love- we need it now_

_Let's hope for some_

_Cause oh, we're bleeding out_

_I belong with you, you belong with me."_

_-The Lumineers, "Ho Hey"_

"Go on," he said, and the grey owl pushed heavily off his arm and out into the blue morning light. He climbed back in bed, watching it soar and circle the astronomy tower before ducking into an open window.

He smiled to himself at the image her waking up to the owl carrying his message, stretching out in the big bed in her head girl room. Still, he wished he could have just rolled over and whispered the words in her ear, that he could wake holding her. But she had yet to convince him to let her stay; he was too afraid to fall asleep with her.

The Christmas holidays were winding down, and students and professors were trickling back to Hogwarts; still few enough that their time together went unnoticed, but Severus worried that soon, he may see Hermione much less frequently.

They hadn't spoken about allowing others in on the secret of their relationship, nor had they defined it. Severus detested the word "girlfriend;" it sounded juvenile and petty. What Hermione was to him was so much more, and he was tentatively beginning to believe she felt the same way. Would she want to call him her _boyfriend? _What's more, to whom would she use that term? It was understood, Severus knew, that their relationship, in whatever terms, would need to remain unrevealed so long as she was a student. And then?

Severus leaned back against the pillows. _Well, I suppose it's better this way. _She didn't need the shadow of his reputation on her life. Severus wondered vaguely if she was ashamed of him. He wasn't sure, but it seemed likely; he was everything to be ashamed of.

But for him... no. He wanted to take her out and kiss her in public and have the whole wizarding world know that he had done something (what, he still wasn't sure) to deserve her, that she saw something in him to care for, so maybe he wasn't as horrible as everyone thought. Perhaps if Hermione could accept him, so too could the rest of their world.

Unfortunately, Severus understood that it didn't work like that. She would have to obliviate every witch and wizard in Europe to make them stop hating him. On the contrary, her own reputation was likely to suffer by association. That's why their relationship had to remain a secret.

But that was fine, because she belonged to him.

There was a slight rustling in the kitchen, but before Severus could climb out of bed and investigate, Hermione appeared in his bedroom doorway, looking quite lovely in her pink striped pajamas.

"I thought I wrote 'nine?'" Severus was surprised but thrilled to see her.

She shrugged, climbing into bed next to him. "I didn't want to wait. And anyway, I knew you were already up." She shimmied between the sheets and closer to Severus, tucking herself up under his arm. She kissed his cheek. "Do you want me to leave?"

Severus growled and wrapped her so tightly in his arms that she couldn't have gone even if she wasn't being coy.

Hermione giggled as she snuggled against him, and he wound his hand up under her top, resting it against her ribs.

"Severus!" She gasped, squirming, "your hands are freezing!"

"Mmmph," he mumbled into her neck, tucking his cold hand more securely between her and the bed. She shivered and he pulled her in closer, conscious of his growing erection, which pressed against her bottom. This did not escape Hermione; she wriggled playfully against him.

"Mmm," she said playfully.

Severus pushed her hips away from his. "Sorry," he whispered.

Hermione rolled over so that they lay face-to-face under the covers. She gently thumbed his cheek. "What are you apologizing for?" she asked, brows knitted.

Severus shrugged. "I can't help myself."

"I don't want you to!" She laughed.

"It's too soon."

Hermione sighed dramatically, flopping onto her back. "How many times do I have to say it, Severus?" she exclaimed, exasperated. "I am an adult, I can make my own decisions, and I _want _this." She faced him, sliding her own hands under his shirt. "I want _you." _

He wanted her, too. So badly. But he couldn't shake the fear that if she really knew him-_all _of him-that she might not want him for long.

It wasn't that he was self-conscious of his scars; no, he wasn't that vain. But the stories behind them were more than he cared to burden Hermione with. He couldn't stand to have her pitying him. All he wanted was to move forward, her by his side, and forget everything else. But he was a coward.

"Stop." He pulled away and got out of the bed. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

Hermione sat up in bed, looking utterly dejected. "Why not?" Her tone had gone from indignant to hurt, and Severus regretted it.

He didn't answer.

"Why not?" She repeated. "Severus, Why won't you let me take off your shirt?"

He didn't answer. So she'd noticed a pattern.

"It's not a big deal," she said, winding her hands in the sheets.

He was becoming frustrated, the heat rising in his face. He couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to explain to her why it _was _a big deal, why he feared his mutilated body would somehow tell her who he really was. And then she'd leave.

"How do you know?" he asked, whispering to the floor.

"What?"

"How do you know?!" he almost yelled at her. She looked scared. "How do you know it isn't a big deal?!"

She watched her hands, tangled in the covers, for a long time. Then she climbed out of bed and stood before him, her hands on her hips.

"Because I've seen you shirtless before."

"What? No you haven't."

"Yes I have."

"When, may I ask, did that occur?"

"When I came to St. Mungo's."

"Oh. Right" Severus considered her brave eyes and the touches of

apprehensiveness behind them. He thought of that awkward morning: Weasley's foul expression and Potter's handshake and... "Wait, I was wearing a hospital robe when you were there." There was a tense silence for a moment before she answered.

"Not the first time," she nearly whispered. He stared at her, confused.

"You came before?" His stomach dropped. If she had been there before he was

conscious, she would have seen...

"Yes." She whispered, lowering her eyes to the ground.

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"And I was..." He trailed off. His insides twisted in pain at the thought of what

she'd seen: an emaciated and pale version of himself suffering the worst physical

pain he'd ever known, writhing and thrashing and...

She nodded.

"Oh, fuck." _She saw me, all that pain..._

"Y-yes. I... I didn't know you weren't well. I just knew you were there, and I wanted to talk to you, so I went... they hardly let me in to see you..." She spoke rapidly as a blush rose to her cheeks. " I was just there for a moment, and I..."

"Stop."

She stood frozen there in her pajamas, her hands half-reaching to him and tears pooling in her eyes. "Severus," he lips moved, but no sound came out.

Severus struggled to remember. He found bits and pieces of those weeks in the hospital: cursing the Healers, vomiting after every meal, and the pain. _Oh, the pain. _As though someone held a searing knife to his throat and slashed it over and over again. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't think.

But nowhere in those memories could he find Hermione, not until she visited with Potter and Weasley. But she'd been there. And she'd seen him at his absolute worst: struggling to live when he wanted so badly to die.

He sank into his chair, his head resting in his hands. _All this time, she's know. She's know the very worst of you, and yet here she is in your room, your bed, claiming to want you. _

Severus didn't move for a long time, not even when Hermione knelt timidly before him and found the back of his neck beneath his hair, caressing the skin there. It felt nice, but he couldn't meet her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered after a long time.

"I was scared."

"Of me?"

She smiled sadly. "No, of course not."

"Of what then?"

Hermione was quiet, stroking his neck. Finally, she spoke.

"I was afraid that I knew, even then, that I was in love with you."

His head snapped up, his eyes wide. "You're in _love _with me?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

"Are you sure?"

She laughed, the tears in her eyes finally spilling over. "Yes, of course I'm sure!"

"Even though you know... everything?" He couldn't bring himself to accept what she said.

"Severus!" She was laughing and crying, looking at him as though he was the daftest person she'd met. "This is not an exam! I love you, alright?"

He nodded, now unable to speak. Did her love her too? It was overwhelming, to suddenly realize he might, only after discovering he had no secrets from her after all.

He wound his hands in her hair, looking into her eyes and wanting terribly badly to kiss her.

"Hermione," he nearly whispered, "I have no desire to be apart from you ever again. I find you inexplicably fascinating and painfully attractive, and when I think of you, I often feel as though I'm about to explode. Is that love?" He asked genuinely, for he feared he wasn't quite sure.

Slowly, she nodded. "Professor, I'm afraid it just might be."

He pulled her against him. "Well then Miss Granger, I must inform you that I am completely and irrevocably in love with you."

Severus sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees.

"Go easy on me," he told her. "I'm still a little nervous."

She kissed his forehead in response.

He warily pulled up the hem of his shirt, slowly pulling the black fabric over his head. He looked at neither himself nor her, but at a spot past her elbow. It was strange, after a lifetime of hiding, to bare himself to someone.

Her warm hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he relaxed a little. Slowly, she traced the fingertips of one hand from his left ear to his right shoulder. The worst, first.

"Nagini," she said. It wasn't a question, but he nodded.

She climbed around him and onto the bed, her hands never leaving his skin. _The only thing that makes this bearable. _

He felt her fingers along the thin white line, healed cleanly, on his left shoulder blade.

"Dolohov. His was worse." Her lips replaced her hands as she kissed the scar. _Mmm. _

Then was the jagged but shorter pink scar on his ribs. Her hands felt nice, but this was difficult.

"Voldemort. Or actually he had Yaxley do it. But I always hated the Imperious Curse, and I wouldn't go easily." She didn't speak, but kissed that one too.

Her fingers found the stretched pink line along the waistband of his pants, and he breathed in sharply, shaking his head. _No, not that one. I can't._

Hermione wound her arms around his shoulders, holding him from behind.

"No secrets," she whispered in his ear, repeating what he'd said earlier when he'd suggested this activity. He nodded and she let go, tracing the line again. "It looks old, "she remarked, "like it happened when you were a kid."

"It was my mother."

She said nothing, just bent to kiss his back.

She moved on quickly, finding a short, thick purple knot near the base of his neck.

"Cruciatus. Can't remember who exactly... one of the Death Eaters." She kissed it.

Then a oddly-shaped white line made almost a spiral on his ribs.

"That one _was _actually the Dark Lord," he told her. "All kinds of dark magic, to test my loyalty after he killed Lily."

It was out before he knew what he'd done. Hermione's fingers stopped moving, and he felt her tense behind him. She was still for a moment.

"Hermione?"

"Go on... I... it's okay." she began to trace another scar. But her voice was strained.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

"You don't have to be sorry," she told him, dotting a kiss at the center of the spiral. "You loved her, I understand."

They continued their morbid game, Hermione tracing and kissing the scars and Severus telling sometimes painful stories about their origins. But now he could only think of Lily. Had he really loved her? He'd certainly thought he had. But Lily had never loved him. Hermione did: part of the reason he loved her was because she loved him in return. He wasn't sure if it was possible, after all, to love someone the way he had thought he loved Lily. For that's what it was afterall, right? Hadn't he loved only the thought of her?

Hermione finished off the game with a kiss to his left palm, the scar there gained from a nasty duel in his Hogwarts years.

"My turn," she announced, rolling up her sleeves. She extended her arm to him, her "MUDBLOOD" scar standing out pink against her skin. "This one, you already know about," she began, "and this one," she pointed to a white patch on her elbow, "was from roller skating when I was six, so we'll skip that one."

"Hermione." She stopped examining her body and looked up at him.

"Hmm?"

"I have to ask you a question."

"Alright." She looked apprehensive.

"Um, do you... I mean, when you were together, did you love Weasley?" The words were hard to say; he didn't want to think about it.

She rolled her eyes. "Severus, please..."

"No really, I want to know."

She glared at him. "No, I didn't."

"Are you sure?" He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"What? Yes, of course I'm sure!"

"What about Krum?"

"Severus!" She rolled over and pinned him to the bed, her hips over his and her hands holding his wrists down. "Look at me!" she ordered. He gazed up into her hazel eyes, full of fire, and she lowered her face to his, aligning them nose to nose. "You," she whispered, "are the only man I've ever loved. My very first, as infuriating as you are."

He smiled up at her, the grin uncomfortable on his normally grim face.

"Hermione," he told her, "I think you're my very first as well."


	12. Chapter 11: Do Something for Me

Chapter 11: Do Something for Me

_Forget what we're told_

_Before we get too old_

_Show me a garden that's bursting into life_

_I need your grace_

_To remind me_

_To find my own_

-_Snow Patrol, "Chasing Cars"_

"Ugh!"

Hermione flopped back against the pillows of Severus' bed, her fingers gripping her hair in frustration.

"Hermione," Severus pleaded from his place safely on the other side of the room. "Please don't make this any harder..."

"_You're _the one making it hard, Severus!" She screamed. "_You're _the one who's so worked up about this!"

"Hermione, please." He rubbed his eyelids. "It's for the best."

She crawled down the bed, and Severus made an attempt to back away from her, but he could go no further with the wall at his back. _Merlin, she's so fucking sexy_ he thought, admiring her body and her white lace bra and matching panties, _look away, Snape, or you're going to come right here in your pants. _

She knelt just before him at the foot of the bed, legs and lips parted in a way that made Severus' cock twitch with excitement inside his trousers. Her hair was wild and tangled, the strap of her bra hanging temptingly off one shoulder. She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

"Don't you want me, Severus?" She breathed. _Oh gods, do I want you. _

"You have no idea," he whispered.

"Then why won't you touch me?" she stuck out her lower lip, pouting prettily. _I'm going to bite that lip, and then I'm going to..._

"_Hermione..." _he groaned, unable to stop his hands from reaching for her.

"Please, Severus," she begged, "I want you to make love to me."

He stopped.

He couldn't do that, not yet. It'd only been a few weeks; it was too soon. And she was a virgin, he was fairly certain from the overheard encounter in the hall. And he was nearly forty-one years old, with much too much experience with the wrong people. He was sickened at the thought of taking that from her; her first time should be sweet and tender, with someone her own age.

_But look at her. _It took all of his being to resist her. They'd been kissing; she took off his shirt. He should have stopped it there, but he'd lost control. Now she looked upset; no, angry. He didn't trust himself, he couldn't with her. He couldn't be sure he'd be what she needed. Not with the way her hips curved in at the waist, as if he was meant to grip her there, and the way her full breasts nearly spilled from the flimsy-looking lace of her bra.

He shuddered. _Get control of yourself, Snape! Keep this up and you're going to pin her to the bed and fuck her, and that'll be good for no one. _

Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself. But when he opened them, he found Hermione slowly sliding her bra down her arms, exposing herself to him.

_Oh bloody, fucking hell. _

"_Hermione," _he groaned again, his voice breaking. "What are you _doing_ to me?"

She smiled coyly and he gripped the dresser, holding himself back.

"Please, Severus," she breathed, stepping off the bed. He couldn't speak, but shook his head furiously, keeping his gaze on the wall behind her, resisting the urge to reach for her breasts.

Perhaps because he was looking away, he did not notice her hand slide between them to cup him over his pants.

He inhaled sharply. "_Hermione." _She squeezed, and he nearly came. _Look what she does to me; I'm like a bloody teenager. _

With all the willpower left in him, Severus clasped her wrist and pulled her hand from him. "Hermione, _please_." His beg came like a sob. "Don't push it any more." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and set it on her hip.

"Fine. We won't do it... _today._" Severus sighed with relief and longing at her concession. She wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear. "But will you do something for me?"

"Anything." His mind was relieved, but other parts of him ached in disappointment.

Hermione sank to her knees before him, unfastening his belt and sliding his trousers over his slim hips. Before he knew what was happening, his cock was hilt-deep in her mouth and his knees were about to give way.

"_Holy fuck_, Hermione." His brain screamed at him to stop her, but his will was spent.

"Mmm." The little sound of pleasure reverberated through him. Severus gripped the dresser even tighter, now to keep from falling to the ground.

She licked up the underside of his shaft and he shuddered at the sensation. She worked him over, sucking, licking, swirling her tongue all around him, until he gave up trying to convince himself to make her stop. His head lay back against the wall, his hips thrusting imperceptibly in time with her movement. When she cupped and gently squeezed his balls, he groaned and bucked.

"Oh fuck, oh _fuck..." _He moaned in pleasure. "I'm going to come, Hermione, I'm going to..." She took hold of his hips and pulled him to her, taking him all the way in. He came violently, hips thrusting as she swallowed everything he gave.

For a long moment, he couldn't move. She slid her mouth carefully from him, massaging his thighs and hips with her warm hands. His head rested against the wall, his eyes closed and brown furrowed. Finally, he raised his head and met her eyes, which glittered with mischief.

"You're seducing me, Miss Granger," he accused.

She winked up at him. "That was the plan, professor."

XXXXX

Severus woke the morning of his forty-first birthday with Hermione in his bed and a smile on his face. They'd fallen asleep still fully dressed and wrapped up in each other, their faces close, fingers entwined. Their Friday evening had been innocent, spent lounging on the sofa, Severus preparing for classes and Hermione eagerly reading ahead in her textbooks for the new term, which began Monday.

At precisely midnight, Hermione had closed her book, leaned forward across their entwined legs, and kissed him deeply.

"Happy birthday, my love."

He started, surprised she'd even known. Having never really celebrated his birthday-aside from fourth year when Lily bought him a celebratory butterbeer in Hogsmeade-and wary of their age difference, Severus had hoped his forty-first would go unnoticed. Of course, the brightest witch of her age would have found out.

"Thank you." His reply was kind, but curt.

"I've got something for you." He could see the excited glow in her eyes. "A gift."

Severus suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Hermione, you didn't have to..."

"Well I did!" she exclaimed brightly, pulling a large square package from beside the sofa.

"Hermione..."

"Severus.." she mocked his wary tone. "It's nothing really, just a little something I thought you might like to have." Her hands were clasped eagerly in front of her chest, and she bounced slightly on the cushions. "Open it!" she laughed.

He couldn't bring himself to deny her her joy, but he was still hesitant as he tore through the paper. Wrapped inside was a large leather-bound book, it's corners worn and frayed. The old book creaked when he turned it over to read the title.

_Advanced Potion Making. _

"Hermione...?" _Why is she giving me an old sixth-year potions textbook? _

_Unless..._

"No..." he whispered. _It's not possible. The Room, and the fire... _

But sure enough, when he opened the front cover, there it was, written in his own neat print:

_This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince._

"Hermione," his voice cracked. "How did you... I thought..."

She shook her head. "It was the Room, Severus. It gave it to me."

"I thought it was destroyed?" He didn't look at her, but continued to page through the old book. His tidy handwriting covered nearly every page, crossing-out, adding, amending instructions.

"I did too. And I didn't know what I was doing, I was just worried about what to get for you for your birthday. I suppose I passed it three times... the door opened and there it was, the only thing in the room." She sighed. "Hogwarts thought you should have this back, Severus."

He let out a shaky breath as he fingered the pages. This book held a lot of memories for him, and not one of them good. The information stored between its covers, thought, was priceless. It would have taken him years of work to re-edit every potion inside.

But now, with her, this memory overwhelmed them all. He smiled at her, his breath shaky and his expression strained.

"Do you like it?"

Severus didn't answer, only set the book aside and then pulled her close and kissed her fiercely.

Now curled together in bed, Severus watched her sleep, thinking to himself that he was unsure how he'd ever lived without her. He twined his fingers in hers, marveling at the sereneness of her face, her long lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her nose.

"How does it feel to be so _old?_" She asked, her voice creaking. She smiled a devilish grin at him, her eyes still closed.

When he didn't answer, she opened one eye. "Oh c'mon, Severus. I was only joking." She playfully shoved his shoulder, and he grunted.

Her grin faded when she noticed his sour expression. He cupped her cheek, smoothing his thumb over her face. "I sometimes forget that you're only nineteen," he said seriously. "And that I'm more than twice your age." He scowled. "You should be waking up in the bed of someone much younger, much more fun."

She rolled her eyes theatrically. "Oh please, Mister World-Wise," she scoffed. "We both know there's no better place for me than with you."

Severus couldn't help but smile. "No?"

"Nope." She smiled contented. "And besides, I'm an old soul."

"That you are, my love." He rolled so that she lay above him, and soon felt himself stirring at their closeness.

"And besides," she rolled her eyes again and settling herself so that she straddled his hips. "To say I woke in your bed is only the literal account of events."

"Hermione," he warned.

"For all I know," she continued, "I _should _be waking in a younger man's bed. Maybe someone who is actually interested in..."

He flipped her suddenly onto her back with a growl, pushing himself hard between her thighs, proving her wrong. "Oh, I'm interested," he said huskily.

"Prove it," she challenged, jutting out her jaw.

With a great sigh, Severus let his head fall to her chest. "I can't."

"If the way you act when your cock's in my mouth is any indication, I'm certain you can."

Severus grew even more aroused at her crassness, rubbing their hips together. She moaned quietly.

"No," he moaned into her chest, "We can't. Not yet."

She exhaled sharply. "Well why not?"

He climbed off the bed, resisting the urge to crawl back between her spread legs. "I won't ruin this, Hermione," he whispered. "I won't lose you."

She rose to stand before him, taking his hand in hers. "What makes you think that sex will ruin this? What makes you think it's so frail?"

_It could be that you're a young, beautiful, exciting, effortlessly sexy woman who happens to be so smart it scares me sometimes, and you somehow don't seem to know that I'm no good for you. Also, I'm an aging, self-absorbed, maniacally jealous and insanely possessive murderer who can't control my brain or my dick when you're in the room. _

Severus shook his head. "Nothing, Hermione. Let's have some breakfast."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour later, Severus held Hermione around the waist as she struggled to leave.

"Severus!" She giggled. "Please! I'm already late."

"Don't leave me," he murmured into her hair, fully aware of the double meaning.

"Ginny is going to wonder where I am!" She laughed as he tugged on the strap of her bag. "What are you going to do if she comes looking for me?"

"She'll never find you here."

"Severus, come on," she groaned playfully, attempting to extract herself from his hold.

"I need you." She froze at his comment, stiffening in his arms. He released her.

"What? I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"No!" she laughed, but he could hear the strain in her voice. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I..."

"Ron used to say that, a lot." Severus heated at the mention of her ex. "I hated it," she told him. "It was so much pressure."

"Oh." Severus didn't know what to say. He had not lied, when he said it.

Hermione met his gaze. "But I like hearing you say it," she said finally. She held his face in her hands. "I like that you need me." She kissed him deeply, and Severus sighed, contented.

As he pulled her into him, her bag fell from her shoulder, spilling open on the kitchen floor.

"So eager!" She teased, and they both knelt to gather her belongings. They were nearly done when Severus picked up a thick piece of paper, covered in a swirling print.

"What's this?" Hermione moved to take it from him, but he moved out of her reach.

_The Ministry of Magic of Great Britain cordially invites Hermione Granger and guest to attend _

_An Evening of Heroism _

_A Gala in honour of the heroes and heroines of the second Great Wizarding War _

_Saturday, January sixteenth _

_at eight o'clock in the evening _

_The Grand Ballroom Ministry of Magic, London_

"I was going to talk to you about it," she whispered after a moment. "It's next weekend."

He nodded. "Were you trying to keep this from me?" _Heroes and Heroines: surely that means Weasley will be there. _

"Severus!" Her expression was indignant. "Of course not!"

"Who's your guest?" He nearly spat the question, and he hated himself for it.

"I thought I'd ask Neville to be my date, since he'll be there anyway." She whispered her response, and he realized she was afraid.

He supposed Longbottom was the least offensive choice-the least likely to pull anything on Hermione-but the look of disgust on his face betrayed him.

"Well I didn't think _you'd _want to go!" She snapped, snatching the invitation from his hand and shoving it deep into her bag. She stood to leave, but he grabbed her arm.

She let out a little cry as he pulled her roughly to him, their bodies flush with one another. "_Want to?_" he whispered huskily, "Of course I _want to." _He snaked a hand around her back, holding her just a little too low on her spine, pressing her against him. Her breathing quickened, and he heard his own grow ragged.

"You do?" she asked, her voice thick with desire. He watched her lips, swollen and red from kissing, and nearly growled.

"_Yes," _he moaned in her ear, "I want to be there with you, make everyone know that you're mine, spend the entire evening dancing close against you," he jerked her hips against his, nearly panting with want, their position oddly reminiscent of the dance he spoke of. "Of course I want to be there to curse any man who looks at you, to be the one they're all envious of." She shivered at his voice in her ear.

"Severus.." she whimpered.

"But I can't, Hermione."

"I know." Her whisper was barely audible. "But I have to go."

"I know." He dropped her arm, leaving their bodies heated and unsatisfied.

"Will Weasley be there?" She jerked away from him suddenly, scowling.

"You know he will." He growled, reaching for her again. "Severus..." Her voice was pleading, either to drop the subject or to please her body, Severus was no longer sure.

Burying his face in her neck, he whispered ashamedly; "But I will spend the entire evening thinking torcherous thoughts of you in the arms of someone else." He knew he shouldn't beg her not to go, but he ached at the thought of her dancing, laughing, touching anyone else. Especially the ginger oaf.

She stroked his back. "If it upsets you so much, I won't go."

He sighed against her. "No. Don't let my possessiveness keep you from your life. We both know I can't be a part of all of it."

"I wish you could!"

"Me too. But for now, at least, there are some things I shouldn't do. Unfortunately, showing up at a heroes ball at the Ministry is one of them." He chuckled humorlessly under his breath.

"I won't say long, and I won't dance with anyone!"

He took her by the shoulders, kissing her gently on the lips.

"I love you, Hermione."

"I love you, too."

"You'll go to the gala, and you'll have a wonderful time." He smiled, but his eyes did not.

"And you? Will you be upset with me?" She looked so genuinely concerned, his heart swelled.

"No, of course not, my love. I'll just stay here and wallow in jealousy until you return."

They both laughed, and only Severus knew the truth in his words.


	13. Chapter 12: Anything You Wanted

Chapter 12: Anything You Wanted

"_Now they're going to bed_

_And my stomach is sick_

_And it's all in my head_

_But she's touching his chest now_

_He takes off her dress now_

_Let me go"_

_-The Killers, "Mr. Brightside"_

The week was dreary Severus was filled with dread. At every chance he had-between classes, late in the evenings after dinner, a stolen moment in the cupboard-he touched her, held her close, fingered her hair. At night in his rooms, she tried to kiss him, slide her hands under his clothes, but he wouldn't do it. He just held her, neither speaking, and absorbed her presence. He wasn't sure if she understood, but eventually she gave in and just lay there with him.

Saturday, she stood before him in a liquid silver gown that made him groan. He pressed his hand against her exposed back and kissed her long and deep, subconsciously trying to give her a reason to come back to him. She melted into him. Neither of them spoke. He helped her into her coat and she left.

XXXX

He could barely take it. He poured glass after glass of firewhiskey, until it was simpler to just drink from the bottle. He waited, slouched in his chair, and drifted off.

_She was dancing with a man, her silver gown moving magically around them as they glided across the ballroom floor. She was grinning and flirting, batting her lashes and tossing her hair coquettishly. He held her at the waist, his hand on the place where her bare back met the fabric of her dress. The music stopped and they kissed, his hands winding in her wild hair, hers fisted in the fabric of his dress robes, pulling him closer. Oblivious to the rest of the room, they kissed furiously, tongues dancing, hands groping at one another. When they parted, breathless, she looked up at James Potter through her lashes and whispered, "take me home." _

Severus woke, gasping and coughing, from his alcohol-induced nightmare. He was coherent enough to understand the tricks his subconscious played on him; the woman he loved, once again taken from him by his same adversary... it was ludicrous.

"James Potter is dead." He said it out loud, forcing his spinning mind to believe.

_But Weasley is there, _he reminded himself. _Probably dancing with her, holding her... _

He shook his head, willing his mind to stop torturing him, but he was weakened with whiskey.

_Hermione, pressed close to Weasley on the dance floor. She sees his face-he still loves her, because who wouldn't? She sees how young he is, how full of life. He is one of the heroes they're honoring; he is worthy of her. He kisses her; she lets him. _

Severus took a large gulp of the firewhiskey.

_Now they're home, in his bed. He's taking off that damned silver dress-that was supposed to be me!-and she's moaning. He's fucking her, she wants it. She's happy. She's forgotten all about me. _

Anger and drink burned the back of Severus' throat.

_How could she do this to me? She knows I won't survive her. This will destroy me. _

Panic ripped through him. A glass crashed against the wall, and Severus realized he had thrown it. _No. She can't! _He lost control, and the bottle of Firewhiskey exploded, seemingly of its own volition. Books and papers flew around the apartment as if a strong wind whipped through. There was a roaring in his ears, and Severus gulped in air, trying to get his magic under control, but his treacherous mind spurred on the chaos:

_You don't deserve her. _

_You'll never be good enough. _

_She doesn't love you. _

And then she was there, appearing in the doorway like a silver ghost, and he wasn't sure at first if she was real. She muttered a spell and everything stopped, parchment floating down around them like autumn leaves, the room suddenly very quiet.

"Severus!" she gasped, and ran to him just as he sank to his knees. He caught her around the waist and she fell with him, cradling his head against her chest.

He wanted to sob, or scream or just say anything, but only a strangled cry came from his throat, muffled by her skin against his mouth.

"Shhh," she consoled him, rocking, stroking his hair. "It's alright, Severus. It's okay."

But it wasn't. Could he live this way? Could he continue with her, never knowing for sure what she did when they were apart? Always second-guessing her love, knowing he wasn't good enough, and living in fear that each day would be their last? Could he always wonder if she would stay, when there was no reason she should?

_No. _

So before he quite knew what he was doing, he was whispering into her chest: "_Legilimens_."

_ She was at the gala, smiling but feeling anxious, constantly glancing at the clock. Ministry officials one after another lined up to congratulate and thank her, but she did not engage them in conversation. She was worried about him, eager to go home to him. When would be too early to leave? Longbottom asked her to dance, and she almost accepted, but thought of him and politely declined, citing tiredness. _

_ Her dress was uncomfortable and she didn't eat much dinner. She thought only of Severus, the kind way he looked at her, the companionable silence of reading together on the sofa. She would much rather be with him than here-or anywhere else-right now. She daydreamed: pulling on one of his worn black sweaters that would swallow her, tucking her toes under his thigh on the couch to warm them. She hoped he'd tied back his hair-she loved it that way. Then they'd wind together under the quilts and he'd hold her, caressing her hips until she fell asleep. _

_Weasley was there, then, asking her for a dance, speaking to her, trying to move his body close. She was uncomfortable, but confident: she did not want him. He begged her to talk to him, to see if they could work things out. He told her he missed her. She smiled kindly, but shook her head. She was seeing someone else, now, she told him. Someone very special, and she wouldn't mess things up. He asked who she was seeing, was he at Hogwarts? Was it someone he knew? Hermione smiled and said it was still new, and she wouldn't tell. _

_ The night wore on, and Hermione was tired, ready to return home to him. Home; his tiny rooms in the Hogwarts dungeons felt more like home than anywhere else. So long as she was with him. Would he be happy to see her, when she returned? She hoped he wouldn't have wallowed much; she knew he was being jealous and self-loathing when she'd gone. But soon it would be over, and she'd let him unzip her dress, hold her... then it would be just the two of them, again. _

_ She said her goodbyes, perhaps just a little sooner than was polite, then apparated back to Hogsmeade, as close to Hogwarts as she could manage. Then she slipped off her towering heels and ran for home. _

Severus was in an unstable state of mind, and quite drunk. He couldn't focus, not even to withdraw from her memories. He slipped, and fell back in.

_She was on his couch, apologizing for her boyfriend. He reached for her hand, and her heart fluttered. She loved the feeling of his touch, so hesitant and unsure, but she could tell he wanted it. He held her hand between his and she faltered. She was falling for him, and she knew it. She told him that she felt inadequate for Ron, and he scowled. She wanted to cry, to tell him that he never made her feel anything but perfect. He made her feel... whole again. _

_Then she was in his classroom, sitting on his desk. She sat close, hoping he'd touch her. She spoke badly of Ron, hoping Severus would speak up. She was growing impatient-was she imagining things?-the more time she spent with Ron, lately, the more she wanted Severus. What was wrong with her? She should just break up with Ron. But she was scared-scared of hurting him, of hurting Harry and the Weasleys. Scared of isolating herself... but most of all, scared of opening herself up to Severus. She had to know, first. He had to show her that he wanted her, too. _

_ She was angry. She antagonized him, provoking him to say he wanted her. He didn't. And then his lips were on hers, prying her open inside and out, working his way into her. But then her mind was on Ron. Sweet, kind Ron, who did not deserve this. She fled. _

_ Later, she finally let Ron have what he'd been after for months. She wanted him, she felt sure. He fumbled and she closed her eyes. It wasn't bad, but she regretted it almost immediately. When he fell asleep, she finally let herself cry. _

_The it was Halloween, and she was drunk in Hogsmeade with her friends. And miserable. Ginny asked if Ron had upset her, Hermione shook her head. Later, he tried to take her up against a brick wall in an alleyway. She made him stop and he told her he needed her. She never slept with him again. Hermione was sick in the gutter and ran home as fast as she could. Sobbing uncontrollably. she found herself going down to the dungeons, letting herself into his rooms, kneeling by his sleeping form. He stirred and she lost her nerve, telling him they needed a break instead of what she really felt: that she loved him. She told him she would be there if he needed her, but what she really meant was that she needed him. _

_Then, she was standing in the rain outside Spinner's End, her heart pounding in her chest. She considered going back to the Burrow, but then he opened the door and she knew, despite his scowl, that she could never go back. That he was it for her. He was all there was. _

_Finally, she was kneeling on his bed, kissing his scars, and there was so much love. She wanted everything for him. She wanted to make him whole the way he did for her. She wanted to please him with her body, but he wouldn't let her. She was frustrated, but not angry. He would let her know when he was ready. Her heart ached for each injury on his body, but she never felt happier than to know his secrets, to understand him fully, She was curious about Lily, but afraid to ask. It didn't matter, really. She knew he belonged to her. And she was irrevocably, undeniably his. _

Severus blinked, and the room reformed around him. For a moment, he felt relieved-no, elated: she _loved _him, and that was the truth; he had felt it in her thoughts. She wanted him as he wanted her. Perhaps everything would be alright.

But then he saw her face.

Hermione looked as if she'd been slapped. Her mouth hung open in awe, her eyes tormented by his betrayal. She stood and backed from him, her hands falling limply to her sides. Her chest heaved as if she was going to sob, but her eyes stayed dry. She searched his face as if for an explanation why he'd just opened her mind and pulled out her thoughts without her consent.

"Hermione," he reached for her, but she stepped out of his reach. She didn't jerk away in anger, but backed from him as if in fear. Slowly, she retrieved her coat and bag and then stood at the door, her hand on the knob. "Hermione!" His voice was desperate.

She turned her face to his, and he could see tears on her cheeks, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "I would have told you anything you wanted to know, Severus," she spoke quietly. "All you had to do was ask."

And then she was gone, and he let her go.


	14. Chapter 13: Talk to Me

Chapter 13: Talk to Me

"_Maybe this thing was a masterpiece until you tore it all up._

_Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well. _

_And you call me up again just to break me like a promise,_

_So casually cruel in the name of being honest." _

_-Taylor Swift, "All too Well"_

Before, after the last time Hermione had run out the door and left him alone and self-loathing, Severus had avoided seeing her at all costs. He had refused to go to classes, meals... he hadn't left his dungeon quarters for nearly two weeks, until she came back.

This was partly humiliation. After all, he had kissed her (quite roughly, actually) against her will, she pushed him off of her with a forceful spell, and had proceeded to run from the room yelling "no, no!" Naturally, Severus feared their next encounter might be uncomfortable.

But what had truly kept him from seeking her out, if only to tell her he would leave her alone, was her own well-being. He wanted her to be happy, even if that meant she was happy with Weasley. Severus found himself quite noble for this selfless mindset, astounded that his love for someone could be so pure.

This time, Severus was not so gallant.

He attended classes as normal, albeit with short lectures and a shorter temper. He ate his meals at the head table in the Great Hall, taking even longer to chew his toast than normal, hoping to catch a glimpse of his love when she came to breakfast. He even went to Quidditch the first Saturday in February, with the futile hope he might find her in the mass of students. It was there that he was able to speak to her for the first time since the night of the gala.

He was lucky to spot her, in the sea of yellow and black. Just as he was about to give up and retreat to his cave, he noticed her, lifting her mass of wild hair from the collar of a yellow Hufflepuff sweater; he couldn't see her face. The ocean of students waiting to climb to their seats was immense, pushing him closer to her, and he feared speaking to her as much as not. So he watched her intently as she spoke to the Thomas boy and Ginny Weasley. As the little group inched their way toward the stairs, Hermione turned, and Severus saw her face.

She was very pale, but her nose bright pink. _Is she ill? _Her face looked thinner and her eyes red. _Is that from the cold? Or has she been crying? _While Ginny and Dean laughed, Hermione merely smiled a little sadly.

He wanted to go to her, take her inside and put her to bed, to hold her while she napped. _If she's sick, she needs to be inside the warm castle, resting. What are her friends doing, allowing her to come out here like this? _The crowd pushed him closer; he could touch her hair if he reached now.

_Don't do it, Snape. _

_Let her go. _

_You know she's better off without you. _

But he was a selfish, vile coward.

"Miss Granger!" He called, when he was close enough. He watched her stiffen at the sound of his voice and turn slowly to him, her expression controlled.

"Yes, professor?" Her voice was even, but her expression suspicious. It stung him, a little, to hear her call him that.

"You look quite ill," he noted, trying to sound natural. "Perhaps you should be inside, where it's warm."

She gave him a quizzical look before turning to her friends.

"Ginny, Dean, go ahead and get seats. I'll meet you in a moment." Her companions retreated reluctantly up the stairs, the Weasley girl giving Severus a withering glare as she did. He didn't blame her for hating him, after what he'd put her through just the previous year.

"Are you ill?" He blurted. It was all he could think to say.

"Severus, please." She wasn't even looking at him as she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

"Just talk to me, please, Hermione." He hunched toward her, keeping their words private in the middle of the bustling crowd. When he cupped her elbow, she didn't pull away.

"I don't have anything to say," she told him quietly, still avoiding his gaze.

"Then just listen. Come back with me, just let me explain."

It was a long moment before she spoke, but when she finally looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes.

"There is _nothing _you can say that will make me forgive what you did to us." Then she slid her arm from his and escaped up the stairs.

Later, as he sat in his rooms, the stack of essays on the table long forgotten, Severus realized that Hermione was not angry with him. She hadn't screamed or sobbed or tried to curse him, as he probably deserved. She'd never lashed out or even told him how upset she was. All of this would have been preferable, because Severus knew that he had broken her heart.

XXXX

It was a pattern that continued over the next several weeks; Severus cornering her, begging to speak to her, and Hermione calmly refusing to listen. In the classroom cupboard she'd helped him organize months earlier, he took her hand.

"Please, Hermione. Please, just speak to me."

"I can't," was all she said.

A week later, feeling desperate from her constant evasion, he announced that he'd need her to stay after class. She had stared at him from the back row, then slipped out with the rest of her peers.

He considered giving her detention, but he didn't want to explain it to her head of house.

The term wore on, and rather than easing the pain, time only thickened it, made it increasingly unbearable. Each encounter ended the same way; she slipped away, and he was broken all over again. The pain of losing her never had a chance to dissipate, when it was happening over and over again. It consumed him.

For the brief period they were together, Severus had allowed himself to hope for things with Hermione he'd never dared hope for before. He had seen it, their future together. And it seemed she had seen it too. More than that, there had finally been someone who cared for him, who cared for the person he really was. He had hoped if Hermione could love him despite everything she knew of his past, perhaps she was not alone. Maybe there could be redemption for him. Maybe he could atone for his sins, learn to coexist with the rest of the world. Perhaps the world could learn to accept him in return.

But now he was back where he began, where he'd been his whole life. He couldn't help but think that he had many years yet to live, and he wasn't sure they held anything for him. Not without her.

Late one night in mid-March, after a particularly horrible day in which Hermione had not been in his class, Severus went to the cupboard and removed a small ebony basin, just large enough to cradle in his hands. Inside was a swirling, whitish substance that moved like liquid but felt, to the touch, like smoke. He clasped the edge of the table and sunk his face into his memories.

There wasn't much in Severus Snape's life that he cared to remember. But tonight he wanted to be with Hermione, and this was the only way he knew how.


End file.
